Leaving It Unlit
by thecatclouder
Summary: It's always been there, in the air. The slightest spark, and everything would erupt. The slightest spark, and the districts would rebel against the Capitol. The 69th Hunger Games are approaching. Strong tributes will fight until only one remains. From the perspective of both the tributes and the mentors. Sequel of Three Girls, though can be read alone.
1. District 8 - Prologue

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**A/N: This story is the sequel to my other story Three Girls, and also corresponds with the parallel stories Tulip's Tale and How to Win the Hunger Games. While I have done my best not to make it necessary to have read those stories, especially Three Girls which is the main story and is complete, this story will contain spoilers so if you wish to read it first that would be good. It also contains more detailed introductions to the OCs mentioned.**

**However, for you returning readers and those who wish to read more about District 8, please read and enjoy this story. Don't forget to leave reviews, as I'd like to see what you think. This story will eventually go to the 69th Hunger Games, and might continue longer than that. The Victory Tour starts on approximately Chapter 5, and the Hunger Games Reaping will around Chapter 10, although I am not certain about that yet. **

**Now, without further ado, let's start this Hunger Games story. :)**

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**Prologue - District 8**

**Suffra**

Four months, three weeks, two days, and eleven hours. The Victory Tour was approaching, just a dot many months away. She had only just got back from the Capitol several weeks ago, but already she dreaded it. It was moving forwards, each day taking forever but she wished time would go back.

Four months, three weeks, two days, and ten hours. Technically it was night time. Nobody else would notice that she was just sitting there, staring off into space when she was meant to be sleeping. She was tired, exhausted, but she did not want to go to sleep. This was as peaceful as she got, staring off into space. Whenever she slept she went back to the Games, or woke her family with her screams.

Four months, three weeks, two days, and nine hours. Six a.m. Dawn was beginning to come across the horizon, the dark smog clouds were beginning to get lighter as the sun beat against them. It was almost approaching another day. Another day of acting like absolutely nothing had changed. She could gush; pretend that nothing had happened. Her family was doing that as well, but neither of them were that good at acting. Everybody knew that everything had changed.

Before, they had not lived in Victor's Village, and she had not been the fourth ever Victor from District 8. Nobody had expected her to win; she could see that from their reactions. District 8 did not have many Victors, as they were disadvantaged when it came to most arenas. Most of the residents had never even seen greenery.

Four months, three weeks, two days, and eight hours. The clocked ticked further along, and she blinked as she noticed another hour had passed. Her mind was elsewhere, worrying about the Victory Tour again. She tried not to look back, but looking forwards seemed to be the exact same as looking back. Another Games. Another twenty-four children sent to their doom, even the survivor being badly damaged.

Slowly she got up, seeing that her knife was still attached to her belt in a way that made her feel safe, she headed downstairs. The house was massive, but she hated it. It belonged to the Capitol, not her. It was luxury that nobody else in the district could afford, and she got it instead because she played their way. Because she killed to win a fight to the death.

"Hi Suffra!" her twin sister, Iva, called over to her. She was standing in the kitchen, holding a frying pan and making pancakes. Pancakes. The ingredients used the make such a mixture were ordinarily unavailable to the normal residents of the district. Of course, the Capitol did try to spoil its Victors with things they could easily retract. _Here, well done, you killed people. Have a free house and anything you need, but you must return to train more people to fight to the death. Don't do what you are told? We can take it all back and more. _"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," Suffra lied, sitting down at the table and collecting her plate, maintaining the pretence of normal. Although really, having food like that was abnormal for them and she still hadn't got used to it. Iva narrowed her eyes, looking at her sister concerned. Suffra cursed herself, thinking that she could not attempt to lie to her twin sister without getting caught. They were too close for that. Or at least they had been, before the Games had formed a rift between them which was treacherous to cross.

"Did you sleep at all?" Iva asked.

"Yes," Suffra lied again. "It's okay, I am completely fine."

Before there had been no secrets between them. It was not just about the 68th Hunger Games; they all agreed that they did not want to speak of it again. Suffra just felt like she spent the whole time either lying, running or hiding. And she was always called out on it.

"You haven't been _fine _in ages," Iva said, switching the cooker off and dumping the pancakes on a plate, cutting them up. She passed Suffra one of the plates, which she took quickly. "Please don't lie to me."

Iva looked upset, and Suffra felt even worse guilt course through her. She had done everything for her sister; even volunteered for her to prevent her going into the Games herself. Now she could not even reassure her, as she could not lie. It hurt Iva to see her that way, and she did not want to hide completely. She had to see Iva.

"Can we not talk about this?" Suffra begged, and Iva looked away.

"When? It's been almost three weeks since you have returned," Iva said. Suffra looked away, before getting up and walking out of the room, grabbing her coat. Running. The thing she seemed to be doing the most often now. To imagine, Victors were meant to be strong. She thought she had probably been stronger before, or at least she had felt so much safer. Suddenly she needed air.

"I'll see you later," Suffra said, slamming the door behind her. She knew she was overreacting completely, but she had to get out. Go to her true home, which was some miles away. It would take her all morning to get there, especially counting how frequently she stopped. She always felt bad returning to that area of town without any money, especially now that she had tons, but she did not want to go back inside again. Running, hiding. Always running and hiding. She really was bad at acting.

Quickly she left her own garden and crept to the house opposite, looking backwards to make sure nobody was watching her from the windows of her own house. Although technically the house was hers, her parents and sister also lived there. It seemed that she had been avoiding them more than she should have, especially now when she was technically sneaking out without leaving a note.

Cecelia lived opposite her. Cecelia had been her mentor, but Suffra had never shared any of her plans with her before the arena. She had never figured out how to explain her plans if they were the only ones she had, as if somebody managed to poke holes in them she would be left with nothing. Her current plan was to survive, and to stay up forever with this thing known as caffeine as an aid. She did not need anybody to point out the holes in that plan.

Suffra knocked twice on Cecelia's door. Cecelia lived in her house with her husband and her two year old daughter, but Suffra was glad that she was the one who opened the door.

"Can I borrow some money?" Suffra asked quickly. "Just a little bit."

"Running from your own house again?" Cecelia noticed what she was doing straight away. Suffra nodded, caught in the act. It was not just her family who was beginning to catch her out. Cecelia knew her too well now, and when it came to being a Victor Cecelia knew Suffra so much more than her family did. "In which case, I am not going to give you anything. You've got your own money, and you should not run from your family."

Suffra frowned, sometimes wishing that Cecelia was still not paying attention to her. Before the Games, it had been easy to convince her mentor that she was just another tribute who had no plan and wanted to finish things quickly. Now it was less easy. "I just want to go into town."

"How about you let your sister come with you. She'll be very happy to see people prosper with the money you give them," Cecelia said. Cecelia was always trying to fix everything, trying to mend the relationship between Suffra and her family. And she was right. Iva would really like that.

"How did you ever win the Hunger Games? You are too nice," Suffra muttered, regretting it when she saw Cecelia's expression. As she did not want to make yet another person unhappy, she relented. "Fine. Sorry. I'll go."

It felt like the walk of shame going back to her own house after that, even though she ran quickly and ducked through the back entrance. Her parents were up now as well, sitting at the table and eating the pancakes Iva made. They looked like the perfect happy family until Suffra came into the room, and they all turned to look at her.

Then they quickly looked away, making it far too obvious what they had been talking about. Suffra ducked her head down and took her place. They really were as bad at acting as each out.

"I'm glad you are back," Iva said.

"Would you like to go out to town?" Suffra asked, suddenly hoping that her sister said yes and that she didn't have to walk on her own. Iva made her slightly less paranoid, slightly more trustful, something that she felt she needed. Suffra used to be like that as well, and hated that it had changed.

"The rich part or the poor part?" Iva asked. Like all districts, District 8 had both rich areas and poor areas, although the majority of the residential areas fell into the latter category.

"The poor part," Suffra answered.

"Okay, I'll bring some food," Iva said carefully. They both hated the tension that was between them now, but there was not much that could be done. It was still better than the alternative.

"Were you talking about something before I got here?" Suffra asked. Everybody exchanged glances, and she looked back at her food again. "As it is so obviously about me, care to tell me?"

"It's nothing you should worry about," her father said. Suffra felt dread in the pit of her stomach, but ignored it. They could keep their secrets as long as she was able to keep hers, but none of them kept them as well as they thought they did.

"You don't have to do anything about me," Suffra said, guessing what they were doing. "I'm just a little worried about the Victory Tour at the moment. That is all." They all knew how much of an understatement that was, but she made her voice deliberately light. Maybe it would fool _somebody_.

"Let's go," Suffra said eventually, as she finished her food. Iva followed her as she grabbed her money, opening the door quickly. As soon as they left Victor's Village, the quality of the streets declined sharply. First there were the high-rise buildings filled with hundreds of people living in each one; then there were the factories, large grey structures letting off smoke and smog at a colossal rate.

District 8 had the largest population of all the districts, so even with the amount of money she had now she could not help everybody. While the high-rise area was mostly deserted, the factories were full of life as they were run almost constantly. There were some workers outside as the shifts were about to change, but _something _felt different in the air.

"Suffra! Suffra Hadley!" one of the workers called, recognizing her instantly. It took Suffra a moment to place the girl: Esther Parkel. Next to her stood her boyfriend, Amil Colden. They stood close together, their relationship having intensified since the last time Suffra had seen them which had been before her Games.

"Esther, Amil," Iva greeted them. "Have you just finished?"

"No. Double shifts. I snuck out to take a break though," Esther said. Amil kissed her once more, then left her to it. Suffra only then noticed that he actually did not work in the same place she did, and had come over to visit her. "Iva. You are so lucky you got out of it."

"I didn't let her go back. The factories can be dangerous," Suffra spoke on behalf of her sister, something Iva was not happy with. She was about to retort, like old times, that she could speak for herself when Esther beat her to it.

"Yeah, the great and mighty Capitol cannot install safety features into the factories that produce their completely necessary and fantastic fashion," Esther's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh, we love you so much, Capitol, for we are a bunch of masochistic morons."

Suffra was shocked. Iva gaped at her, then looked around for Peacekeepers who were usually everywhere. Esther could be whipped or worse for saying things like that, but she did not seem to have a care in the world.

"You can't say that," Iva said, shocked.

"And you're right. The factories are dangerous," Esther agreed. She flinched when she felt somebody behind her, but relaxed when she saw who it was.

"Sister, you must come inside," Esther's brother Earl said. The boy was just under Suffra's and Iva's age, a young fifteen, while Esther's next Reaping was her last one. That did not prevent them from looking alike, almost like they were fraternal twins. They both had dark hair, thin faces and dark blue chestnut shaped eyes.

Suffra only knew Esther through Earl, as once upon a time the two of them had been close. They lived in different areas but she and Earl used to sit next to each other in class, and at some point she and Esther had worked at the same factory before Esther moved up to the factory making Capitolian fashion designs.

"I'll get in there when I get in there," Esther said, anger in her voice which was not directed at her brother. Iva was still gaping at her, looking at Esther like she was insane. Luckily, they were just out of earshot of the Peacekeeper guarding the factory entrance.

"She's just mad because we almost got a martyr," Earl said, dropping his voice and talking to the two of them.

"Nobody will fight for a martyr nobody can remember," Esther said, still with the same hate. "And I didn't want her as a martyr."

"Who?" Iva asked. Esther looked at Suffra, deciding whether to tell and turning around again. Earl shook his head apologetically before chasing after his sister, although everybody could see that the same hate that was reflected in Esther's eyes was also reflected in his own.

"The one who should have lived!" Esther yelled, making half the people in the clearing turn to look at her. Understanding dawned through Suffra, as she was sure Esther was answering Iva's question. The Peacekeepers came and collected Esther, mostly due to the passion in her voice. They did not get the gist, so the most she would get was an afternoon in the stocks.

Suffra felt sick. Iva looked at her sister with concern, although she had reached the same conclusion.

"She was talking about the Games," Suffra said, pleased that her voice was steady. The whole thing had taken less than several seconds. "Earl!"

Earl, who had rushed after his sister, turned to look at Suffra again. Looking at the Peacekeepers quickly, Suffra held out several coins and placed them in his hands. Then she reached out into her pockets and took out several more.

"Don't worry, she doesn't mean what she said," Earl said, although he was lying. Iva smiled in relief, seeming to buy it. "I can't take your money."

"It's not charity," Suffra said. "Take it as a personal favour, for your sister, for telling me the truth. I don't need nearly as much money as I have." She dropped the money in Earl's hand, not caring whether he took it or whether he dropped it on the ground.

Iva followed her, running to catch up. "Are you okay? It wasn't the truth you know. The people in District 8 wanted you to return."

"Those with families to feed did," Suffra said, as she knew the truth. She raised her hand to quiet her sister, then walked more quickly down the streets so Iva started jogging to keep up. "It's coming up to Parcel Day, after all."

"The others did too," Iva said, but there was a tone in her voice which said it was a lie. Suffra had not played the Games the District 8 way. She had teamed up with a Career, the girl from 1, a deal which was already made for when the Career pack split. That would make sympathy for her drop like a rock. She had not thought about it at the time, but District 8 probably had either stopped backing her or thought she was despicable.

Suffra agreed with that assessment wholly. How was emotionally manipulating the girl from 1 into an alliance, then getting her to do your dirty work, and running away when she was killed anything but despicable?

"Only for Parcel Day," Suffra repeated. She stepped forward even more quickly, then stopped completely to look at her sister. "Esther was talking about Mimi Catalpa, wasn't she?"

Mimi, the girl who helped people. She was the female tribute from District 7, the one with hollow eyes that aided the tributes she was meant to fight on numerous occasions. Mimi had given Suffra berries, one which she knew now were food although she did not recognize them or at the time trusted them. Mimi had stayed with Anemone, the girl from District 4, when she had been injured and tried to make her comfortable although there was no hope of recovery.

Most notably, Mimi had protected the twelve year old boy from 3, going to the feast so that he would have food, and guarded him until the Gamemakers intervened. Those were only the things Suffra knew about. No doubt there were more.

The recap showed exactly zero of those things. Mimi had not featured in the recaps much; not even her death was shown. Suffra still did not know how she died. Even though she was not credited with a single kill, Mimi had helped her district partner kill Suffra's ally during the feast. Somehow, that did not make Suffra hate her. That was the only thing about Mimi the recaps showed, apart from her screaming in a tree during the bloodbath.

'Goodnight, Krystal Alrich. Sleep tight.' Suffra could almost hear the words again, in Mimi's haunting all-knowing voice. Sometimes she dreamt them too, when her attempts at staying awake were unsuccessful, except in those cases they were directed at her. The pool of blood remained the same though.

"Yes," Iva nodded, still watching Suffra's reaction cautiously. Suffra smiled to reassure her sister, then asked the question that she had asked once before, having been distracted by other matters and going home, but never truly received an answer of.

"How did Mimi die?" she asked.

"I haven't a clue," Iva admitted. "I was not in the room and I heard a cannon from the screens…" Suffra knew that Iva had been worried that it had been hers. "You were safe, so were Walton and Katran. They never showed it in the recaps."

"It must have been really bad then," Suffra said. "For the Capitol, I mean. They usually revel in showing the death of district-people." Suffra blinked, her hands hovering over the knife which was still attached to her belt. It had taken her less than a few seconds to go back into her Games thought patterns, and she had not even noticed it.

In a way it was good, seeing as that was the persona she would have to adopt on the Victory Tour and mentoring, but mostly it just made her completely sick. She swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump that had formed in her throat, before she continued.

"It's what's different, isn't it?" she said. Esther had spoken out against the Capitol, and she had done so in a crowded square. There was little chance, due to the crowds, that the Peacekeepers would overhear her, but others milling around certainly would. She'd held complete confidence that everybody else agreed with her, which surely they did. "This time we got so close to actually having a martyr we could fight for, yet she turned out forgotten like all of the others."

"Even in the final eight interviews, there weren't many people even in her home-district who knew her," Iva said, then thought about it. "I don't see why District 8 needs a martyr. Why does the symbol for what we are fighting for have to be dead?"

Suffra got it, although none of them quite said what they meant. District 8 was ready to fight against the Capitol; they had been for a long time. Whenever they took an opening, or enough people felt emotional enough about something, they would go for it whether it was a good thing for them or not. District 8 was one of the first districts to start fighting the Capitol in the rebellion and one of the last to stop. Since then, there had been some minor attempts at rebellion. But it hadn't been full scale. The one thing District 8 had more than any of the other districts was population, but the majority had to be behind it 'do or die' for it to work. So far, that wasn't the case. They had people they cared about to protect after all.

"Mimi would have been a great symbol if she was the survivor, wouldn't she?" Suffra said, unable to keep the wistful tone out of her voice. Shock crossed Iva's face as she moved closer to Suffra, taking more out of the statement and tone than Suffra meant to say.

"Are you glad you survived?" Iva asked, and Suffra flinched at the directness.

"It's what I was fighting for," Suffra said. That was the truth, and she was glad that she was back. But she was not glad about the way she had won the Games, or anything to do with that. She would happily forget it had happened, but that was hard to do when everything was designed to remind her.

Suffra noted how Iva kept close to her as they finally returned to their old neighbourhood. The streets were mostly empty, apart from the Peacekeepers that were guarding the streets for anyone skipping work, and they did not stop again. As soon as the Peacekeepers recognized her, they were not even stopped.

The neighbourhood was worse than she had remembered, the Capitol having spoilt her perspective. She sped up, stopping at their old house and looking inside. The house, a small single roomed shack surrounded by others, still belonged to them as technically that was where her family was meant to live.

"I prefer this house," Suffra said, touching the outside wall of the house. She pushed the door open and looked inside, although it seemed smaller than it had done before. The walls were grey, like they were closing in on her. Her breathing came out sharper and quicker. It did not really look alike at all, but somehow it reminded her of the rocks. Tumbling on top of her; trapping her in…

"Suffra," Iva said. Suffra paid little attention, her mind still elsewhere. "Suffra! Pay attention to me. Everything is fine."

Suffra's looked at Iva, snapping out of it. "I'm fine. Let's go." Iva looked incredibly concerned, but pulled her sister up and let her lead the way back out of their old house. She'd wanted to return, yet had managed to stay there for less than a minute. The lie made its way to her lips again. "I really am fine."

**Secondary A/N: So, what do you think? Please tell me and leave a review. Don't forget to favourite and follow. :)**


	2. Acquisition

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**A/N: Okay, this one does not take place in District 8. I thought I should do a District 1 follow-up to see what happens to Krystal's family, and this is what I came up with as soon as I started writing. After this, I should go back to District 8 again, and I don't think I'll be doing another chapter in District 1 for a while unless people request it. **

**Please review. I'd love to know what you think. Cashmere and Gloss feature in this one, if you haven't guessed already by the heading a few lines down. :)**

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**Acquisition**

**Gloss**

Gloss was alone in his room, drinking some strong Capitolian brewed wine from a glass as he looked at everything else they had sent him. He was one of the most popular Victors, so he was sent back to the Capitol almost the most often. Every year they sent him boxes upon boxes worth of the stuff, most of which got dumped right at the back of his closet and forgotten about. He hated the Capitol, and what they had done to him and his sister, so as soon as he returned to District 1 he tried to forget all about it for as long as he could.

This time, for the first time since Cashmere's Games, he had not been mentoring with his sister. It had been great at the time, Delilah offering Cashmere a year off, but the mentors got to return to their districts at the end of the Games with the bodies of the tributes who didn't last. The Capitol had decided, now that Cashmere was not busy with other duties, she could stay a bit longer, and it had taken her longer to return. He'd hated them for that too, and had spent most of those days killing the dummies he had in his basement.

When Cashmere returned, she had brought the boxes. Then, because it was somehow the lightest thing they talked about just after the Hunger Games, she had informed him that for some reason due to family honour they had to go to the 'victory party' of a tribute who did not return and he had spent weeks mentoring.

Gloss had destroyed the vase on the table when he'd heard that, and he saw in Cashmere's face that she had not expected him to react quite that extremely and that she should have broken it to him more gently. A week later, and that date was there, so he was being pathetic and hiding in his room until further he was forced out, preferably not until much later.

"Stupid lower districts with their deemed superiority!" he yelled, pushing one of the boxes over. Inside were the clothes he surely would be expected to wear, in the crazy colours of the current Victor to further rub in that the family's daughter did not win. Instead, it was that stupid girl from District 8, who by right should have died in the bloodbath.

He had been mentoring enough years. Everybody thought the Career districts acted superior, and realistically when it came to survival chances they _were_, but the other districts were just as guilty of that same thing. They looked down their noses at the Careers, those that had trained for the whole lives to win the Games. Even the poorest children from District 12 seemed to do that.

If somebody from the non-Career districts died in the Games, the people of the other districts would think it was bad. If it was a Career who perished, nobody cared. Districts 1, 2 and often 4 were vilified. Cast as the baddies for all the other districts. Gloss could bet that just about everybody from the other districts cheered as District 8 won rather than District 2, although out of the final three they would have been hoping for District 7.

"Gloss?" Cashmere said, pushing the door open. "You have to get ready. Come out here so we can laugh at how ridiculous you look."

"I am not wearing District 8's colours," Gloss said, getting up off the bed and setting the wine glass on the windowsill. His head was sort of light due to the amount of alcohol he had consumed, but he was by no means drunk, which seemed to be the correct balance. "I can't believe that stupid girl from 8 won."

"Sorry I was not there," Cashmere said, judging his emotional state. "I shouldn't let you mentor alone, you know."

"No, it's good that you didn't have to mentor," Gloss insisted, his tone cold. "One of the tributes was as dumb as a bag of rocks and the other was Krystal Alrich. It was bad."

"Don't worry. There'll be another Victor soon who'll let you have a year off," Cashmere said, trying to reassure him although he did not need it. What he needed was to be completely alone, but that was not going to happen. "We should go before Mother comes looking for us. She's already wasting most of our money; we don't need her visiting us."

"Did you hear she got a dog? And she dresses it up too," Gloss said, changing the topic to something lighter which was as ridiculous as the outfit he was told to wear. "You know, like they did around two years ago in the Capitol."

In many ways, District 1 tried to take after the Capitol as much as it could, but apart from the Victors all the fashions were always about a year or two behind. However, the fashion in District 1 never got quite as extreme as it did in the Capitol.

"With the little berets?" Cashmere asked.

"Bright pink," Gloss nodded, but he did not sound nearly as happy or joking as he tried to. He sighed and emptied the glass of wine, grimacing at the disgusting taste, as everything simply felt so dark. In a few weeks he would be called back to the Capitol, and now he had to go to the house of a girl who he had never spoken to but was meant to mentor. After Cashmere, he'd had no successes as a mentor, and although it did not mean anywhere near as much to him as his first time, it still weighed down on him.

Cashmere sensed his change in mood. "So, do I look rich and prissy enough?"

"You should not be wearing silver," Gloss said, and Cashmere looked down at herself, confused. "Silver was the tribute's colour."

"It's a do-all colour for lazy District 1 stylists," Cashmere said, her expression telling him that she was not going to get changed. She held some purple and yellow flowers in her hand, which she had trimmed from the many flower-pots she'd planted around the house. They were a type of weed, which in District 1 often grew on graveyards (leading to the very unoriginal name of graveweed), so she had planted them in the house for all the children she'd failed as a mentor.

Gloss had not liked that, and as technically it was his house he told Cashmere to plant the flowers in her own house. He did not like being reminded of the Hunger Games any more than he already was, but in the end Cashmere won the argument.

"Are you ready to go?" Cashmere asked, linking her arm with her brother. Gloss nodded. To his dismay, there were some non-Victors crowding in Victor's Village. It was not unusual by a long shot as District 1 residents loved looking at the houses as incentives for victory. One stuck out more than the others, mainly because she was wearing too short a top for the weather and was beautiful even by District 1 standards.

Cashmere spotted her as well. "Go away, Dazzle." The girl, Dazzle as she was apparently called, did the exact opposite and took it as her cue to go over to them, stopping a few feet away and blushing. Cashmere's reaction was priceless.

"You know, if you want to survive you should start by listening to your potential mentors and not making them hate you," Cashmere said. Dazzle frowned.

"You can't hate me. How can you possibly hate me? You look very pretty by the way. Will you tell me how to win the Games?" Dazzle babbled, sounding star-struck.

"Compared to her, I'll bet on District 12," Gloss murmured.

"Well, nobody was betting on Cashmere either," Dazzle said sweetly. Gloss's fists clenched and Cashmere looked shocked. Dazzle genuinely did not seem to know what she had said wrong. "Just because I am a gorgeous blonde doesn't mean I don't stand a chance."

"Don't punch her, Gloss," Cashmere reassured him, then turned to the girl. "And Dazzle, trust me you will not _win _the Hunger Games." She rested her hand on Gloss's shoulder until his breathing returned back to normal.

"She's just a stupid girl," Cashmere said. "She doesn't know what she's saying. If you want, I can take her next year if she somehow manages to get into the Games."

"No, I'll do it," Gloss said. "I don't want her anywhere near you."

"I'm not going to argue with you Gloss, but I have the feeling that if you two are in the same room together for more than five minutes one of you will be dead and it won't be you," Cashmere said. Her assessment stung, because it actually seemed likely.

"Who do you think the male tribute is going to be next year?" Gloss asked. In District 1, most people could already accurately guess the identity of the tributes up to a year prior to the actual Reaping as they announced that they were going to go for it. There were usually many takers for the same position, so nobody knew for certain until about a week before, but the richer parents usually managed to tilt the tables their way.

"I don't know. As far as I know there are at least five boys competing for being a tribute," Cashmere said, leading the way to town.

"Who's the richest?" Gloss paraphrased.

"I'd say either Gleam Kenningsworth or Emerald Helbourne," Cashmere said. "I think one of them may be seventeen though, so they might both be going." Usually, it was the richest people who ended up competing, unless one of the tributes was phenomenally brilliant. He hated that now, now that he knew what the Hunger Games really were, but before volunteering it seemed like something normal.

Gloss also hated going out into town. It seemed that everybody turned to look at them, like he had a neon sign over his head showing him for what he really was, no matter how blank he kept his face. Over the last five years he had become a good actor, better than he should have hoped necessary.

Unlike what was shown in most of the images when the cameras came, parts of District 1 looked like a bland grey expanse. There were even some mines, where diamonds were extracted right from the source in the ground if he understood correctly. His family had never associated with miners. There was also a machine which made diamonds out of graphite, which seemed like a simpler way of doing it. Their father owned the majority of the supply of those machines, as if he wasn't already trying to monopolize everything else.

"Cashmere, Gloss, finally," their mother said when they arrived near the garden of their old house. Cashmere had moved in with Gloss as soon as he had won, so it had been years since either of them had set foot inside. They were some of the few people in District 1 who could say that the houses in Victor's Village were actually slightly less luxurious than those they grew up in. "I was just about to go out looking for you, and you know how excited the dog gets when I take him outside."

Compared to her mother, Cashmere did not seem like she was wearing many jewels at all although she easily outshone the other woman in all other aspects. They took each other in, as despite being mother and daughter they had not seen each other since the Reaping, and only then because attendance was compulsory. Mrs Armani had scored front row seats because both her children were Victors, although Mr Armani always managed to buy close-up seats as he liked to bet on how long the tributes lasted.

"I got you a gift," Cashmere said in a formal tone. She held out an expensive necklace which she most likely had not bought herself, but received from one of the many men in the Capitol. "Although I see now that a dog owner's manual would have been better."

"No," Mrs Armani scolded. "Diamonds are always better. Didn't I tell you to dress in Capitolian fashion? Gloss, you look like you are going to a funeral."

Cashmere and Gloss exchanged glances. Nothing good would come out of this, even with all of the forced and fake lightness. Their father came down moments later, dressed up like he was going for a business meeting with a Capitolian. Overly formal dress usually meant it was an acquisition. It was not hard to guess what Mr Armani wanted to gain this time, and was trying to do it as shamelessly as he possibly could in general fashion.

"You have no control over us anymore. I think we are more valuable than you are to the Capitol," Gloss said coldly, making his mother flinch despite herself. She then glared at him and did not push it, dropping into her place beside her husband.

"Don't worry," Cashmere said again, also sounding incredibly annoyed. "I think we just have to show up for five minutes." She shrugged and followed their parents, but keeping far enough back that they could easily be mistaken for strangers.

* * *

**Lacey**

The room was completely silent. A floor down, she could hear her parents arguing, their voices rising to such an extent that people in the poorer parts of District 1 would be able to hear them. The words drifted up to her, even if she blocked them out. She didn't care. Not about that.

So they might have to drop another house size, which her father was yelling about. He blamed everybody else but himself, even though he was the one at fault. Even if Mr Alrich was made to stay civil about something, he would swear loudly about it later for everybody to hear.

It was all everybody else's fault. It was not her father's fault that they had to move from the richest area of town because he insisted on betting exponential amounts of money that both Cashmere and Gloss would die in the Hunger Games due to some grudge he had. Somehow that was their fault for wanting to survive. So now they were stuck in a house with _only _two floors, plenty to eat, a private training room, and dozens of valuable antiques.

Mr Alrich still complained about it every day. And Lacey screamed at him, then wailed. _'You don't care! You don't care!'_ Because he didn't. He couldn't. He did not shed a tear when his daughter was killed in the Hunger Games. Not as far as she knew.

The Reaping was the only day of the Hunger Games they fully had off in District 1. She had to return to school, like all the other children under the age of eighteen. She'd hated it. Even though she did not have to work there were still hours of every day she could not look at her screens to make sure her sister was alright.

The feast was no different. The Gamemakers messed up day and night in the arena, making dawn for the tributes about ten a.m. so wealthy Capitolians could watch they day's action unfold live without having to get up early. She still had to go to school, but the screens were everywhere. It was District 1, after all.

It hadn't been that very busy at school. Simply a hush with people anticipating it. District 1's one remaining tribute in the final six, and Katran was the only other Career, because due to Goody-goody Mimi Catalpa both she and that twelve year old were also there. Apart from Walton, Katran had been the only real fighting threat.

So the feast started. Krystal died, thanks to the very girl who had protected everybody else. Krystal was beating Walton after all. Lacey stared in shock, everybody moving away from her pretty quickly, begging what the screen had shown not to be true. The boom of the cannon confirmed it, the screen showing a shot of the two tributes from District 7 standing there over her body, the girl comforting the guy because she had gone back to being the goody-goody again.

Lacey had flipped out. She'd done basically what her father usually did and cursed and screamed, then cried. Everybody thought she was a wimp; they had done since she was little. They had done since she had refused the Career training, never wanting to kill anybody. Because she was against violence. And she screamed. Because she had seen her sister kill, then be killed, because of the stupid Hunger Games.

But now she was silent, sitting in the room. Not her room, Krystal's. She had been keeping it the same way since Krystal had gone to the Hunger Games, remaining silent like it was a shrine, and refusing to let even a film of dust form on the surfaces. Other times she just sat there, hoping that it brought her closer to her sister without having to face the population of District 1. Not that she was often allowed out, because apparently she was an embarrassment. Because she wasn't okay with having her sister kill then be killed.

Then there was the hate. Hate for her parents, with the way they were acting like nothing had happened, like Krystal never existed. Hate where there should have been love. Hate for her district, because the following year and the year after that it would be somebody else's sister, somebody else's brother. Hate for herself, because she would sacrifice them all to get her sister back, despite the fact that her sister was the biggest killer in the 68th Hunger Games.

Hate for District 7, because once upon a time she had even liked the female tribute from it. She had stared in a mixture of shock and awe as Mimi helped the people she was close to, even when the Gamemakers forced them together to attempt to make them fight. While Lacey never wanted Mimi to survive, after all her sister was in the Games, she had not disliked her. Now there was just hate. Hate inside her core which scared her.

It was probably the same hate which made siblings of dead tributes volunteer the following year or the year after, although often they too shared the same fate. Murderous rage, which she did not know she was able to feel, deep down and covered only by sadness.

She imagined that it had never happened. Maybe if she left the room again, she would be able to pretend that Krystal was there, but she knew what had happened. If she could pretend before, she couldn't after the funeral. The Capitol had fixed Krystal up again, and she had just looked like she was sleeping. Before they buried her in the ground, which might as well have been the rubble from the Hunger Games arena as it was the Capitol's choice anyway.

The doorbell rang, an annoying protruding sound which was heard everywhere throughout the house. Lacey slowly got up, not suspecting that it was for her but knowing that she was expected to play maid. When she was younger, she remembered that her family had servants. As Krystal did the training, it only left her to play that role although often her mother acted like one as well.

It was her father's house. Krystal was the one who would get him tons of money, which sometimes appeared to be all he cared about. That didn't work out. Although it was not _his _fault. It was Krystal's, obviously. For not surviving. For, god forbid, crying when she was killed. Lacey hated him for it so much.

Slowly Lacey made her way down the stairs, almost silently. Mrs Alrich opened the door with a bright smile without checking who was outside, but the smile froze in place when she actually saw. The smile was fake now, that much was obvious, and Lacey considered hiding in the other room but had a similar reaction to her mother when she saw the people standing outside.

"Can I get you anything, Mr Armani?" Lacey asked, her voice polite like she did not think the fact that he was here could not possibly be a good thing. The anger did not dim, and actually intensified. "A route out of here, perhaps. You will see the gate behind you, but other than that there is also a back exit through the house." Lacey had to prevent tears springing to her eyes when she realized that was close enough to what Krystal would have said.

"Here I was thinking your girl could not stand up for herself," Mr Armani said patronizingly, as Mrs Alrich quickly started covering up for her daughter's disrespect. "Don't worry. I have no intention of staying in your shack. We were told that this party would be at Victor's Village, but that did not appear to be the case and it would be _awfully rude _not to show up at all."

"Ah, Mr Armani, I was wondering when you were going to give us the _pleasure _of showing up," Mr Alrich said, the bitterness not able to keep out of his voice. "Oh look, who have you got with you? Your darling little wife and the twins of death."

Lacey flicked her gaze up, realizing that Cashmere and Gloss were also there. She should have noticed that, but all she felt was the pit inside her. Her family's reactions were just wrong, and the fact that the Armanis were showing up was even worse. It might have been Cashmere and Gloss who had killed people, but it was Mr Armani who just loved playing the Grim Reaper. Whenever he turned up in formal suit and with a charming smile, everybody knew that he was about to axe something they cared about.

"You owe me money, Alrich," Mr Armani said. Lacey's father looked even angrier, as obviously it was not _his _fault that he had surely bet the rest of their savings on Krystal's victory. He stepped past Mrs Alrich into the house, admiring the decorations with a judging expression. "You know what. All that wallpaper is going down. You wouldn't believe how out of style it is in the Capitol, but then again I guess you wouldn't be able to afford to replace it."

"We have plenty of money," Mr Alrich said indignantly.

"Father, do you really want to decorate your walls in the current fashion? I didn't know pink and purple were your colours," Gloss said with heavy sarcasm, and for just a second Mr Armani did not seem totally amused but angry instead. _So the Grim Reaper becomes a Demon. Who will win, the Demon or the Victor? _

"How exactly was little Krystal beaten by that girl from 8? Maybe when somebody else mentors, District 1 will finally have a Victor again," Mr Armani said, his words cold, looking at his son and then back at the Alrich family. Gloss, for a moment, actually looked like he was going to throw a punch at his father but Cashmere held up her hand, telling him to stop. Mr Armani's eyes focused on Lacey, a smile lighting up across his face. "Aren't you a maid? Fetch me something to drink. I'd like the finest Capitolian wine." He clapped his hands together and Lacey glowered at him.

"Lacey, get Mr Armani and your father something to drink while they work out arrangements. The good wine," Mrs Alrich translated, as if Lacey was completely dim-witted. If she truly thought Lacey was dim-witted, she would have to explain what arrangements were. As if hadn't guessed that her father had gambled far more than they had.

Nobody could say the words 'gambling problem' though. As it was obviously _not_ his fault. Lacey thought she was probably the only one who had figured out what was going to happen. It was painfully clear, like most of the things Mr Armani did were. She was sure the only reason he bothered with formality was because he enjoyed watching people squirm in his presence.

Lacey stomped into the other room, sensing her mother's angry looks, and grabbing the wine and opening it with a bottle opener. The top flicked off and she tossed it to the ground not really caring, pouring several glasses and placing them on a tray. She knocked on the living room door.

"Come in," her mother said, sounding sort of stressed out. "You didn't bring the bottle. Stupid girl!" Lacey looked down at the ground, placing the tray on the table, and scampering back out again although she much wanted to stay. It was the job of a good girl pretending to be a maid, after all.

"And get some more glasses. You haven't got enough for Cashmere and Gloss," Mrs Alrich continued, and Lacey backed out again, her cheeks red. She hadn't expected them to stay, just to show up to brag about the fact that they had Victors, then leave. Like most of the others Victors, they did not really go out of Victor's Village too often when they weren't in the Capitol.

"Don't worry. We've had quite enough," Cashmere said civilly, looking pointedly at her brother who glared at her tensely. Neither of them looked overly comfortable even though they were lounging and smiling.

"Don't you have a better bottle?" Mr Armani asked, swirling his wine and taking a sniff. "It's almost not worth it bothering with this place, but I would hate you not having to pay up for your bets."

Mrs Armani, finally, for the first time spoke. She looked tense, like everybody else in the room except for Mr Armani was. "Why doesn't the little girl leave so we adults can have a conversation." Lacey glared at them all one last time, then before she noticed that she was going to cry there were tears in her eyes. "Crying doesn't really help your case."

"I don't know if you noticed, but my sister was brutally killed less than a month ago. This is about that, and you act like it is the best thing that has ever happened to you. I hate you so much," Lacey said, the anger boiling to the surface in her words and nothing more. In a perfect world, people would settle things using words. But no, they used weapons. Like a sword, beheading somebody. Like that axe, which buried itself in her sister. Like a gun, the type the Peacekeepers used to kill district people without even checking whether they were really guilty.

She slammed the door behind her, not wanting to see any more of them ever. Part of her wanted to go upstairs, but that meant they would probably call for her again and she could hear them from up there anyway. Instead she sat on the bottom step, crying now, the full wine bottle still in the kitchen. Unlike the Armanis or even themselves when they had left in the same street, they did not have a wine cellar. Like before, she heard cursing in the room. It was louder now that she was closer, but she just pressed her hands over her ears. She did not want to hear them.

"I did not bet that much!" that one was her father.

"I've got a signed piece of paper here saying that you did," Mr Armani's calm entertained sounding voice said. "Do you have that much, Grail?" Using Mr Alrich's first name was being deliberately disrespectful.

There was just silence. Lacey could imagine her mother pressing her hand against his arm, waiting for his answer as she wouldn't know. Now who was the dim-witted one? Silence could only mean one thing.

"Here's the thing. I am incredibly nice, so I have decided that the debt does not need to be completely repaid. I will just be taking your house and all of your savings. How does that sound?" Mr Armani, again.

Then there were just curses. From both her parents. Lacey just stared ahead, and got up collecting the wine bottle. The tears were still in her eyes, but she wiped them on her sleeve. It was the classic District 1 way of keeping up appearances.

"Will you be needing the remaining wine now?" Lacey asked, trying to keep her voice light but failing dismally. Compared to losing her sister, losing her house and all the luxuries seemed minor. But it was still there, nagging her. Nagging her around the angry pit.

Even the Victor twins looked startled. Mrs Armani looked grim, as she knew exactly what they were doing. Only Mr Armani still looked happy as he poured his glass of wine on the light carpet, the deep colour staining it.

"I think I shall be changing the carpet," Mr Armani said. There were around four different people in the room who looked like they wanted to punch him. Mrs Armani looked complacent. Cashmere and Gloss just looked dark, and after a second Gloss got up and pushed past her out of the door. Mrs Alrich, forgetting about keeping up appearances, started crying now.

"You cannot do this to us!" Mr Alrich growled.

"Oh Grail, don't pretend you wouldn't do the same if roles were reversed," Mr Armani said. "Be out by tomorrow, or my dear friend the Head Peacekeeper will throw you out." With that he walked out as well, slowly like he had no care in the world. His wife followed suit, looking at them once more.

"This was not a very good party," she said, not quite as spiteful as he seemed to be. Cashmere still sat there, looking at the ground in a way that suggested she was not sure what to do, then joined her brother in the garden as their parents left. Lacey followed them angrily, ignoring her own parents completely.

"I can't believe you would let them do that!" she shrieked, louder and shriller than she thought she would be. Already she could imagine people starting to talk, especially as she was outside yelling at two of their favourite Victors. "Why… why… did this have to happen? Couldn't you have done something?" Did she really expect any more from two murderers, however hard the Capitol both emphasized that fact then glossed it over, treating them like they were heroes instead of villains.

Lacey had always thought of the Victors exactly that way. Only once, when the one before the Armani twins became a social pariah, did the rest of District 1 also seem to think so. It only pained her to notice, that even if Krystal had won, she would have thought of her sister in a similar way too. But she would definitely have preferred that.

"There's not much mentors can do," Cashmere said grimly, knowing Lacey was not just talking about Mr Armani's acquisition.

"You weren't even mentoring," Lacey said bitterly. "And I'm sure he did more for you than he did for Krystal. Gloss, did you even _talk _to my sister once?" Silence. "Well, did you?" Silence really did say more than words, and she turned around and started storming away from the Victors which now seemed angry at her for calling them on it.

"You know that I didn't," Gloss growled. "Delilah was her mentor." Lacey did not know what happened, really, but didn't tributes have _two _mentors. It was a partnership. Lacey turned back around again, no nice response able to make its way to the tip of her tongue.

"Well, I'm glad you did all you could," Lacey said, hate and sarcasm coming out.

"We're sorry about what happened," Cashmere said, holding some graveweed she had in her purse, but Lacey was past the state of caring. Even hating violence, she wondered whether she would be able to punch one of them before they were able to react. Or, more preferably, their father. "I know it doesn't make it better at all, but I got you some flowers."

"Great. Now your father can take that as well when he takes all of our belongings," Lacey said. _Including everything I have of Krystal's. _She would have to save some of that. She was certain of it. They left almost instantly after that, not saying any more, but both of them looked almost disgusted. Lacey heard Cashmere mutter that her father reminded her of the Capitolians more and more often, but did not care enough to figure out what that meant. Knowing them, with the way they acted in public, they might actually like Capitolians. While part of her said that they didn't, that their smiles and niceties were faked, like everybody in District 1 did in order to prevent people seeing that they actually were rather hateful of each other, she dismissed that. Five years was an incredibly long time to keep up an act, especially if it was almost full-time without break.

Lacey ran back inside and slammed the door, tears completely streaming down her face again. How could anybody let that happen? Her father had obviously made the bet; it seemed like something he would do. It was cockiness rather than the fact that he might have cared about Krystal. She still doubted that he did. He'd gone straight up to his room, cursing, when Mr Armani had left. After a while, eventually, he fell silent. Mrs Alrich kept helping herself to more and more of the expensive wine.

Time ticked. Lacey cried. There were no calls for dinner. Maybe she was expected to make it but she did not care. The pit of hate still burned inside her. It must have been hours later when her mother screamed, slurred words coming out of her drunken state which nobody could understand.

Lacey sat there at first, wondering whether she had seen a massive spider or something again, but the screams continued and she ran in that direction. The screams actually sounded both terrified and pained in a way she had never heard her mother sound before.

"What happened?!" she shrieked, but as soon as she got into the room she saw it. There was a reason her father had stopped cursing hours ago. He lay on his side on the floor of the bedroom, his wrists slit deeply, blood all over the light carpet in massive puddles. The blood had started to dry, and Lacey noted almost emotionlessly that he did not appear to be breathing as she stared in shock.

But she wasn't shocked, not really. There were three top things her father was: a gambler, spiteful and a coward. As she stared at the blood on the floor, she could not feel herself crying like her mother did. If anything, the blood in front of her put a small cap on the angry pit inside her, quelling it.

She did not realize it until now but he really killed Krystal to. It might have been Walton who got her with the axe or Mimi that allowed him to do it. The Capitol played apart, having there be Hunger Games and forcing kids to fight to their death. But it was her father who had brainwashed Krystal that it was a good idea to compete. It was her father who had turned her into a killer, even though Krystal was technically the one who killed.

"Well, he had always been spiteful," Lacey said, her voice low and surprising herself when it actually held sadness. Was she meant to be feeling sadness to a greater extent? Probably, but they had never had a close relationship especially as he'd turned her sister into a killer and always told her that she was a pathetic embarrassment because she refused to train to harm others. "His last act was to give the Armanis a lot of dried blood to clean out of the carpet."

Beside her, her mother was crying. Lacey, instead, just stared. When she returned to her room, she cried. Although she was not sure why. For Krystal, or for her father. Maybe both.

**Secondary A/N: This is still T rating, right? I didn't do it too graphically (or very graphically at all, come to think of it). What do you think? **

**The next chapter shall be coming in a couple of days. Please review. Random questions: Which characters do you feel sympathy for the most? And who do you think the male tribute for District 1 is going to be? Gleam, Emerald, or somebody else? **


	3. Stirrings Of Uprising

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**A/N: Hi everybody and thanks for your reviews. I might be changing the description of the story soon as there don't appear to be as many readers as my parody has been getting, but that might just be because it is the sequel of a not-hugely-popular first story. It would be nice to get some more reviews... actually, it would be nice if everybody reading this reviewed but I am not going to hold out chapters if you don't. I'm not going to be that annoying (again). **

**Don't worry, I will be skipping ahead with time soon. I know some of you are really looking forward to the 69th Hunger Games. Eagle-eyed readers will already be able to guess some of the tributes. The name of the boy from 2 who is going to volunteer has been mentioned in Three Girls, and you might be able to guess who the boy from 6 is... There will be one more chapter after this then I will go straight to the Victory Tour. The Reapings will be reached soon enough. :) **

**Fan: I am not going to have the same format to Three Girls as it is in third person rather than three perspectives. The tributes from the different districts have already been chosen, and the female from 4 is not one of the more main characters. The boy from 4 will be one of the main ones though. It's not going to be a forest type arena, I can tell you that much without spoiling it entirely. **

**Devin: Thanks for the compliment and I'm glad you enjoyed my other story as well. Please keep reading. :)**

* * *

**Stirrings of Uprising**

**Iva**

Iva had told her sister to go and get some sleep. While the chances were that Suffra wouldn't sleep, Iva was now on her own, so she had gone over to Cecelia. She did not know the woman much, but knew she had been her sister's mentor and that she had won the 59th Hunger Games. That was not a lot to know about her neighbour. She always tried to be friendly to people, but she did not know that much about them. That applied to the rest of Panem as well for the most part. People were close, but apart from ties within the family and some friendships they were never too close.

Since she had been reaped from the Hunger Games, then had her sister take her place to actual fight in them, she'd become more paranoid about the Reapings. Anybody could be chosen, and she knew Suffra was worrying about it a lot more than she was because she actually had to mentor the unlucky girl. Iva did not worry about herself; she had been reaped last year and there was no way she could be reaped two years in a row, and she did not have to take out tesserae. However, she had some friends who were still of reaping age.

She had been becoming less close to her friends due to them living on the opposite sides of town now. Every now and then she still met up with Calico, but he understood that she was far more worried about her sister. Iva did not think her sister was taking winning the Hunger Games well, and dreaded how she would take mentoring. Hopefully it would not be anywhere near the state Iva had been in when she had seen Suffra fighting, completely falling apart and worrying that every single cannon was hers. At home it had been hell; it must have been so much worse for Suffra in the arena.

"Hello… Iva," Cecelia's husband Wil greeted her, taking a long moment to figure out which of the identical twins she was. With the way that Suffra acted now, it was a lot easier to figure out. "Is Suffra alright?"

"Physically, yes. Mentally, I want to talk to Cecelia," Iva said, not managing to keep the worry out of her tone. Wil nodded, and motioned for her to sit on one of the sofas. Iva felt out of place. She had not been over to Cecelia's before and was feeling a little uncomfortable.

"What are you doing here?" Cecelia asked, sounding concerned. Iva felt sort of guilty for worrying them as well, as from the outside they looked like a perfect little family. A perfect family, where the mother had to return to the Capitol every year to escort tributes to a fight to the death. Suffra had been the only Victor from District 8 since her.

"I'm worried about Suffra," Iva said, not sure if she was reading too much into it. "She's not happy that she won the Games. But she knew the alternative, and what if she didn't want to return to us…?" The hurt in Iva's voice was obvious. Cecelia looked torn.

"Look, this is new to me as well," Cecelia said. "But I know from experience that you have to give her some time. She's still recovering from the Games and it will take a while. Just show that you are there for her and she should come around."

"She's worried about the Victory Tour," Iva said.

"The Victory Tour isn't for months," Cecelia said. She could understand that, but at this point after returning from her own Games she had still been spending all the time she could with her family. Suffra, obviously, was dealing with it differently.

"I bet you are worried about the 78th Hunger Games, and those aren't for nearly ten years," Iva said, and Cecelia looked up the stairs protectively, looking at the room her daughter was sleeping in. The 78th Hunger Games would be her first Reaping, and with Cecelia's expression Iva knew she was deeply worried about it. She felt she had to say something to reassure her. "Maybe there aren't going to be Hunger Games in ten years."

"You cannot say that," Cecelia said warningly, and Iva flinched. The words had just slipped out. Iva had gone out into town earlier and Esther had said a lot more than she had. If she listened carefully, she heard other people saying near the exact same things.

Except maybe her words were worse. What she was suggesting meant that the Capitol would no longer be in power, as that was the only way the Hunger Games would stop. That was worse than merely showing distaste or anger at the Capitol; it was claiming that they would be defeated by some unknown force.

"Sorry," Iva said. "Are… are there bugs?"

"It'll be fine," Cecelia said, although she did not sound convinced. She quickly changed the topic back to the first one, as she did not avoid the topic completely like Iva's family did. "Did you watch much of the Games?"

"Yes, pretty much all of it," Iva said, a sick feeling coursing through her again as she thought about it. Whenever Suffra got injured, it had almost felt like they were her injuries, except she couldn't move or do anything. "She got close to the girl from 1."

"She's dreading facing the family. Katran and Walton's would be bad as well, but the one she feels the worst about is Hawk's end," Cecelia said. Katran from 2 and Walton from 7 had been the last two tributes remaining in the finale, and the only kills credited to her. However, due to Suffra's poisoned blade Hawk from 11 would have died in the final eight whether the Krystal had beheaded him or not, and it would have been Suffra's kill. "Try to get her to focus on the present. They'll make her mentor next year, as all Victors have to mentor the year after they won, but I can take the year after that so she's got two years to recover."

"Thanks," Iva said, even though there were more pressing issues. It was years away and that would not solve the current problem. The fact that she could not help her sister hurt Iva deeply. "It will get better, right?"

"Maybe a little, but it most likely won't improve much until after the Victory Tour," Cecelia said. Iva nodded, feeling dread fill her again. Esther's words came back to her, and the dread worsened. Somehow it felt like something was going to go majorly wrong, although she could not guess quite what it was. Just something to do with the tension that was in the air.

* * *

**Suffra**

Four months, one day and six hours until she had to face District 12. Suffra pulled her hood up and snuck out of the house. She was getting a lot better at sneaking. Apparently, she had been noisy in the arena. She'd never had the practice, but she practiced now. More than they knew, as she still did it in the middle of the night whenever she awoke. Iva or her parents were often there to wake her, telling her that she had been screaming. She was glad for the interruptions.

A lot of the time she spent training, her mind still in full-on Games mode. It was nowhere near the training facilities they surely had in the Career districts, but she slashed up pillows and furniture, her aim when throwing the knives getting better as well. It made her feel safe, having the ability to fight during the night instead of just running. The ivy growing on the wall of her house was getting stronger. Soon she would be able to climb out instead of simply being cornered in her room.

She kept it mostly a secret. If anybody caught what she was doing they would probably be concerned. During the day, when she snuck out, she did not like using her knife because her mind set was slightly better, but she needed something to do. Victors were meant to have a talent, yet she ignored her escort Baba whenever she called up to check whether she had chosen one. Nearly two months after the start of the Games, and she still hadn't got around to sorting it out.

Instead, she had called in a favour from Esther, which actually benefitted them both.

'So, you are saying you want to take over my shifts and work although you don't have to?' Esther had asked, sounding shocked when Suffra had suggested it. When Suffra had nodded, she'd been quick to take her up on the offer. 'It's still _my _job, you know. I get very tiny wages out of it so now I only have to sign up for tesserae four times this year.'

Suffra, hating the hate in Esther's voice, had offered to pay for all of the food, but Esther would not be convinced to do that. She would only take the wages for not actually doing a job. And that was how Suffra ended up working Saturdays, and four hour shifts after what would have been school if she still had to attend.

"Hi Esther," Suffra greeted again. Esther still had to sign in. Although everybody could see that the most recent Victor of the Hunger Games was not an eighteen year old girl with dark hair, nobody official questioned it or cared as long as _somebody _did the jobs without any riots.

"Wow, an acknowledgement. Somebody is pretending to be cheerful today," Esther said bitterly, the sighed and relented. "Well, it's good to have a Victor aboard. It stops you going all spoiled and Capitol on us. Wear your hood all you want, but everybody notices."

"I wish they wouldn't," Suffra muttered. The Capitol was the only topic that came up when the disgruntled workers spoke, and it was never positively.

"How did you ever win the Hunger Games?" Esther asked maliciously, making Suffra flinch and reach for her knife. "You don't want to fight at all."

"I'll tell you how I won," Suffra said, her tone cold as ice. "I watched people, finding their weaknesses and targeting them accordingly. I got in their head; they knew my name, they knew my story. Then maybe they would hesitate, as I had wormed my way into their minds. Not that I wanted them to have to face them; I ran rather than fought. I had my ally for the fighting part. So, Esther, as surely you already knew that, how would you survive the Hunger Games?"

Esther looked shocked, eyeing the knife Suffra grasped tightly in her hand. "I don't know, but I would not ally with District 1." Suffra imagined herself stabbing Esther in the gut, and almost saw the body convulsing before her. The knife clattered to the ground and she bent to retrieve it, turning around then running away through the crowds.

Once again she was running. She had run from her family, run from her escort, and if she could she would run from the Capitol as well. This time she did not run far, only inside the factory by ducking past the Peacekeeper who were too busy breaking up groups of large amounts of people to notice her.

Any group of ten or more people was considered a rebel congregation in the eyes of the Capitol unless they were working or at school. The government had got more paranoid about uprisings recently, especially as it took practically nothing to set the population of District 8 off.

"Did you speak to my sister?" Earl asked, bringing Suffra out of her thoughts. Suffra shook her head, going to her station next to him. She wondered whether it had always been that way, but she had been positioned next to Earl who seemed to be keeping an eye on her. With the way others were treating her, she thought that there was some ploy going on to prevent her being by herself.

"Is she still working close enough full time?" Suffra asked, trying to keep the topic away from the Capitol for as long as she possibly could.

"She's working pretty much the same length of time she did before," Earl said. "You know, she's getting closer to her boyfriend. Maybe they'll end up getting married… when they are both safe." He saw Suffra's expression and paused. "I'm sorry, but everything is about the Capitol and the Hunger Games."

"Are you worried about being picked?" Suffra asked.

"My sister says the Reapings are rigged," Earl said. Suffra thought back to the last Reaping, having Iva called. Iva had done _nothing_, not to the Capitol or against it. If it was rigged, why would they do that? Her hands clenched around the machinery and the fabric tore beneath it.

"Why… why would they do that to…?" she said, not managing to get the sentence together. Earl saw the pain in her eyes and quickly backtracked.

"Not all the time. Some of them, most of the time they wouldn't bother," Earl said. "And you know what, I agree with her, enough so that I'm not going to risk it. It is how they keep people in line."

"The Hunger Games are designed to keep people in line," Suffra said, then considered it. "But it'll be a lot worse telling people that they or their children would be going into the Games if they disobey directly, yet they can't do it for everyone." How random was it really?

"A lot of rich people go into the Games," Earl said. "I mean, comparatively. Especially for those who don't have to take out tesserae."

"No," Suffra disagreed, remembering all the faces of the poor children in her Games. Most of them were there because they had taken out tesserae, and apart from the volunteers from 1 most of the people competing in them were usually from the lower classes. Her face was completely blank as she continued. "No. That is why nobody stands a chance." Not that the richer people did any better, but they were bound to have a small advantage due to having enough food.

"You're the Victor; I'm pretty sure the reason nobody stands a chance begins with the letter C," Earl shrugged. Suffra looked at him, still feeling nothing at all but realizing that he shared his sister's views completely.

"If the Reaping are as rigged as you think they are, shall I assume I'll be mentoring you next year?" she asked. She retrieved the torn fabric and re-threaded the machine. In a world containing such high technology, the Capitol really did not spare any of that for the districts.

"I only have four more Reapings to get through," Earl said. "Saying it like that, I don't sound like I have much of a chance. How will they single it out on me though?"

"With what you are saying. With what your sister is saying," Suffra said, listing the points off her fingers.

"No, listen," he responded, and she did. The larger machinery whirred in the background, and somebody cursed loudly as his hand got stuck when he tried to fix the smoke coming out another machine two conveyer belts along. Before everybody turned to look at the injured man, there had been at least four groups of people speaking out against the Capitol.

In District 8 recently there were so many people doing exactly that, if Peacekeepers punished them all they would no longer have a workforce. The Capitol could not live without its fashions, so they just punished people at random in public executions. Really, what else could they do? As long as they weren't physically rebelling, everybody would get in far more trouble if they weren't able to meet the quotas as everybody had been executed. Each time somebody was killed, however, the complaints got louder and more organized.

"Keep working!" the manager of the factory yelled without switching the machine off. Even for repairs, the machines never stopped working. "We are already behind schedule!" _Not just because of execution. Whipping and other punishments too. _The trapped man's hollering increased as the machine smoked even more than it had done before.

Suffra looked away, her eyes fixing on the safer point of Earl's face. It wasn't much safer though, as Earl's jaw was set in an angry expression, although it was not the first time something like this had happened and it would not be the last time.

"You are pathetic you know!" Earl told Suffra, his anger directed at her rather than the Peacekeepers or the manager. Like Esther. He was as much trouble as she was, after all. He just wasn't as mouthy about it. The rest of the words did not have to be said. None of them respected her as Victor. There was hate there, to a certain extent, because she had teamed up with a Career and hunted down other tributes. However, there was so much more than that. They were expecting her to do something.

Earl moved out of his position, following the crowds of people who had completely stopped working and were now standing in a mass.

"You'll be even more behind schedule without workers," a man with dark hair said, his arms crossed across his chest. "And where would the Capitol be without its fashions? They can't outsource everything to District 1."

That's when the Peacekeepers came, marching in holding batons. They used them to smash through the crowd, many of whom did not manage to move out of the way quickly enough, until they reached the man who had spoken out. They smashed the batons into his kneecaps and he fell to the ground, his weight plummeting like a sack of rocks.

To her shock, the crowd relented. They reared onto the Peacekeepers, using sheer mass to force them down. Loud screams were heard, emanating from that area as the people barricaded the doors, preventing more Peacekeepers from coming in.

"Where would they be without us?!" a woman shrieked. "Where would you be without us?!" The crowd was a mass, screaming and jeering, getting nothing done and fighting. Suffra watched them with hollow eyes, almost feeling it, almost there, torn between running and fighting. She could do both, but she could do neither as she was fixed to the space. It was like the Capitol really, except the Capitol were excited and not angry. Grouped together, forcing innocents to their deaths. This was the other side though, and it was not going to end well.

"Where would you be without us?!" another man shouted. One man was weak, men together were strong. They pushed one of the machines down and it crashed to the ground with a massive bang, causing the conveyer belt to break and stop moving. The few people that were still at their stations, trying not to cause trouble, looked up, as now there was no doubt about it. The people here were done working.

And the Capitol were the ones who had given them these particular tools. Suffra found herself echoing the words out loud, no more than a whisper, simply staring straight ahead and taking it in. It had not been the first time that had happened, and like many things it was due to the Hunger Games.

The colours currently manufactured were mainly purple and pink, with bits of yellow and red in as that was what her stylist had decided her colours should be and was therefore the fashion. It was pretty much identical to the outfits of the tributes for the previous four years. Five years ago there had been another stylist, only for one year, which was a rarity for the Capitol. The last stylist had just retired, and he wanted to make his tributes memorable.

Memorable in the Capitol usually meant 'almost naked', and that year was no different. But it wasn't the Capitol that remembered it, it was the districts. District 8 in particular, as that year, the year of the 63rd Hunger Games, all the pair from 8 wore were scraggly underwear and a top for the girl. Grey, bland and boring, nothing to it, except for the words printed on it. _This is where you will be without us_. The Capitolian stylist obviously had not known what he had said, and if his interviews were to be believed he clearly did not know the quote from his outfit would prompt riots in District 8 and be used by disgruntled workers for years to come. If somebody from District 8 had won that year, something more probably would have happened, but they had been bloodbaths like most of the years before and after.

The boy from 1 won; extra Peacekeepers were sent in, and everything returned to normal. The stylist was never seen again, although he had probably been drunk when designing the outfit rather than rebellious. District 8 went on strike whenever they felt strongly enough about something and saw an opening.

They saw an opening now, and Suffra knew that it wasn't her. She was too weak for that, simply standing there in a factory which had been taken over by the people. For now. Peacekeepers barrelled through the doors, finally getting enough manpower behind them to force the massive gates open. They opened fire into the crowd, and Suffra finally found herself pushed into action. She ran into the crowd, not sure where she was going, not sure what she was reaching for but trying to spot Earl. Maybe they would fire at her, catch her. Nothing good came to districts that lost their Victors before the Victory Tour, and somehow it was that realisation rather than the risk of her own life which sent her scampering again instead of staying to fight.

She pushed through the streets, the Peacekeepers not chasing her as soon as they recognized who she was. Two streets down, she slumped against a wall of a high-rise building and burst into sobs, her mind in two places. It was all the Capitol. The Hunger Games, the rising tension in her district.

But it wasn't only hate for them that she felt. Somehow, her hate for them had been burned out as soon as she figured out she was not fighting. How had a Game that had taught her how to fight managed to take all the fight out of her? Her knife was still in her belt. She gripped it tightly, holding it by the blade instead of the hilt and watching as blood started streaming from her hand. Gritting her teeth, she increased her pressure, making the wound even larger, gasping like she could no longer breathe but air still rushed through her lungs.

Then, for an absurd reason, she started laughing and crying all at the same time. It was the first time that knife of hers had ever drawn blood, and it was cutting somebody who was as much of a traitor to her district as any of the Capitolians. Suffra laughed loudly as she noticed that, knowing she probably seemed completely insane and guessing that the people who thought that were right. She drew the knife upwards and tossed it onto the ground again.

Blood was streaming from her hands. Blood was on her hands, like it had been for months but at least this time it was hers. That was why she was laughing. The reason she was crying was for the people she had deserted, several streets back, who would surely be punished. They would not be able to figure out who was responsible. The punishments would be random. Like the executions.

A bit like the possibly rigged Reapings. How could they punish people if they did not know who was responsible? It was random. As soon as people were unsure, it had to be random. Unless there was somebody totally prolific they could punish to ram the message home.

Suffra was distracted from her thoughts as the pain hit her. The blood was still leaking profusely, and finally she looked down at the wound she had caused herself. It was deep, a long gash across her right palm where she had pressed down on the jagged blade. Using the same knife, she cut some of the material off the bottom of her t-shirt and wrapped it badly around the wound, which it seeped through immediately. Removing more material, she wrapped the cut repeatedly until the blood was not seen instantly.

Pulling herself back up the wall, she knew she had to go back to Victor's Village. Shame burned through her as she thought about how this would look to anybody. She was running again. The people she cared about, those in her district, those that had once been her allies, and most importantly her family, she was running from. She was a coward.

That was the reason she had volunteered to begin with. Because she was more afraid of having her sister in a fight to the death than she was of going herself.

The blood became visible through the layers of bandages. She was not sure how she had done that, why it was not stopping bleeding. Maybe it was because the fabric was thin, but why had it not stopped? At least it was slowing down slightly, and she still had enough of a mind to try and sneak the back way into Victor's Village. Again, she was running and hiding.

Unfortunately, Iva was already out looking for her. Suffra's cheeks burned with shame as she tried to hide her injured hand behind her back, but her twin noticed that something was up straight away and her eyes widened with horror.

"What have you done?!" Iva gasped, pulling her sister's arm forward and looking at the open wound, making the connection quickly. Suffra started crying again, and Iva proved herself to be the rational one once more as she took her in and got her to sit of the sofa before calling for their parents, which made Suffra weep more.

"I'm sorry," Suffra sobbed, and her mother wrapped her arms around her as her father started cleaning the wound on her palm. Before she had won, he had been a factory worker and almost everybody in the factories knew minor first aid due to injuries from machinery being frequent. Suffra cried some more when she realized that she did not even know what had happened to the man, whose injury had started the strike to begin with.

Her whole body shook as her mind went further back. The bloodbath. She had not stayed for that either. Her district partner had been killed by her ally's district partner. She remained allies with a girl who had beaten somebody to death, not that she had known that at the time. She had manipulated that same person to kill more people, chasing them down herself ruthlessly like she was in the Career alliance. Self-loathing filled her once more. When she had grown to care for that Career, it had not prevented her from running away when she was killed.

"You are here, not there," Iva whispered in her ear, while her father was telling her gently to hold still. Suffra tried to take deep breaths, but her usual technique was no longer working. That was what came from running and not fighting: only pain when she was forced to fight.

That was how it had ended. She forced herself out of the memory where Katran, the boy from 2, had cut her up at the end of the arena. If she had learned to fight better maybe she would not have been torn apart, stabbed repeatedly, and ended up in a basically unconscious state when she had been called as Victor.

"I've got something for her," Tulle, the middle aged man who lived in the house in Victor's Village next to her, said. Suffra surged upwards at his unfamiliar voice, trying to grasp for her knife with her injured hand. He held out a syringe filled with morphling, and Suffra tried to move away. She did not want to be drugged. Not like she had been after she was made Victor.

"Don't!" Suffra yelled, struggling. "I'm fine! I'm fine."

Tulle held her down with both hands as her father pricked her with the syringe. Her body relaxed then, and slowly exhaustion overcame her. The tiredness which had been increasing since she had come back bore down, and she drifted right off to sleep.

* * *

**Iva**

Iva held her sister's hand even after she drifted away, worry like a pit in her throat. She felt like she was going to start crying as well, as she hated seeing Suffra in pain. It should have been her. Suffra was never meant to go into the arena.

Even though Suffra was not aware, Iva wrapped her arms around her tightly. Then she really did start crying, tears streaming from her eyes and making the top of Suffra's head wet. She really had no idea how it was possible to fix this. She turned to Tulle, sort of hopeful.

"Is there anything else you can do?" she asked the Victor of the forty-second Hunger Games. There was desperation in her voice, and she felt pretty desperate. Suffra did not think Iva knew about the midnight training, the way that even when she pretended to sleep for them she spent most of the nights awake and spent the days on caffeine so that nobody noticed. Except everybody did.

"Not much. I can get her some pills for sleeping, but you're close to her," Tulle said. He looked old; older than his forty-three years.

"I don't know what to do either," Iva confessed, as the guy got up and stood at the door. It was clear that because he was not mentoring or responsible for them, he did not really want to get overly involved. His expression was unreadable as he left, but he certainly had not won the Hunger Games by being nice and sending people to their doom could not have helped him become more caring.

"We'll sort something out," her mother said, but the concern on her face was obvious. "Why don't you take Suffra upstairs?" Iva got up as her father picked Suffra up. Suffra's eyes opened instantly, but she just started giggling as she was still on morphling. As soon as they were upstairs, her father went back downstairs again, leaving Iva to tuck her in.

"Iva," Suffra said, her voice faraway. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," Iva said, then said something she knew was true. It should have been her, but she never would have won the Hunger Games. "You saved my life, you know. Remember that, please."

"I would have done that whether I won the Games or not," Suffra said, and Iva's expression turned grim.

"I would not have lasted if you hadn't won. I need you," Iva said. "I'm glad you came back. You might not be happy with it right now, but it will get better. People care about you, and you have to remember that. Please don't try to hurt yourself again."

"It just hurts," Suffra mumbled.

"I know," Iva said.

"But you don't know. I don't want you to ever know," Suffra said.

"Please close your eyes and go to sleep," Iva whispered. "We are all very concerned about you, so please try to get better for us."

"I'll try," Suffra said, because it was all she could do. Iva watched as her sister closed her eyes and slipped straight back into unconsciousness.


	4. Hate

**A/N: Portrait of District 1. It has been mentioned to me that I may have overdone it with the District 1 level of luxury. I guess I might not have emphasized enough how uncommon the riches are, and the fact that many of the descriptions are done from the perspective of character who has not actually seen the Capitol (Lacey has never been to the Capitol, so cannot compare her family's riches to theirs; in her mind, what they live and what they had lived in was the pinnacle of luxury) . The majority of District 1 citizens live in grey shack-like houses, although they are of better quality than those in the poorer districts. There are some houses for the middle classes, and the upper-middle classes could own their own businesses above which they live (think merchant houses in District 12). **

**Then we have the upper classes, which is maybe 0.5% of the population, which have houses with bigger living space (think an average, three-four bedroom, two floored house). Compared to the other houses, and everything else they have seen, this seems like complete luxury. 'Antique' refers to something passed down through generations, which people including those in the poorest district (Madge's Mockingjay pin which was Maysilee's/Mrs Everdeen's expensive dresses which she has from when she was a merchant (this also counts in my mind)) or in my previous story (Suffra's district token) seem to have. That is the type of house the Alrich family lived in since the 64th Hunger Games, basically. It was described in slightly less detail in the Reapings chapter of Three Girls, and has two floors. They dress up their entry rooms to make them look richer than they actually are, and they have some luxuries like wine and carpets. **

**Next, we have the very rich people, which is basically a street of the most influential people who have larger houses than that which are basically mansions. Only a few of the houses are occupied, and the inhabitants include people like the mayor and top business people. Mr and Mrs Armani live there, and they are very rich (probably not quite as rich as the Capitolians, but with two Victor children ****_and _****managing to be a main monopoly they manage to have a hell of a lot of money). They can invest what they have, so the more money they have the more money they get, and they are gradually getting richer and richer. Mr Alrich had managed to buy one of those houses at some point, but he had gone down to simply being upper class. **

**Also, the rich of District 1 try to imitate the Capitol as they see Capitolian life as the ultimate luxury. The Victors, who have actually seen the Capitol, are generally from the higher classes to begin with and are popular, so there is a slight influence there (as for the Victors, Victor's Village actually would be close to Capitol-level luxury). Appearing rich is very important, even more so than actually being rich. **

**I dunno, have I covered all the potential points that the review could potentially be about? So yeah, it was mostly narrated (even in third person, I write things narration style) by Lacey who hasn't seen the Capitol, and me trying to emphasize how much money Mr Armani managed to acquire (you have not seen me describe any Capitolians yet, apart from maybe prep teams or stylists, but then I haven't mentioned their richness). I've actually thought District 1 out quite a bit, so this is just my version of it. Capitolians will come up in the Capitol chapter of the Victory Tour. **

**This following chapter is mainly filler, but it gives some detail on what is happening. **

* * *

**Hate**

**Earl**

His whole body ached. Bruises were forming all over his back, around his wrists and neck, his knees, everywhere. They had caught him, but several miles away from the actual area that was striking. They had not caught him for that. However, as he was meant to be at work, they had put him in the stocks. Some angry Peacekeepers had decided that it was not punishment enough, so they got random citizens to start smashing him with sticks.

After twelve hours they had finally let him out, and he had staggered back home to find his family already there. His mother looked back at him with hollow cheeks, wrapping her arms around him. Even that contact made him wince. Esther was more reluctant, smiling at him instead. She eyed their mother, then motioned for him to leave with her again.

"The Peacekeepers are patrolling the streets," Earl said. It was around three in the morning; but it was always the case. He just thought that it would be wise to remind her, like he did frequently. "We can't fight them, and they are surely listening." Esther snorted, and Earl worried again about his sister's carelessness. Suffra had said that she might have to mentor him; he was more worried about Esther. She was the one who yelled the messages rather than whispering them like the rest of the populous.

"I'm sure they listen in the factories too," Esther said. "I'm not the only one who feels this way!" She was blinded by her anger, not realizing how it would eventually affect others.

"Wait until you are safe," he hissed lowly. "Please. I don't want you to go into the Games too." With the stress of the day, Earl felt tears coming to his eyes although he blinked them away. Once upon a time their family had been bigger. Their half-sister, Twill, had been lucky, managing to marry a teacher whose salary was slightly better than average; their older brother had been drawn for the Hunger Games many years before.

That was when Esther had become convinced that the Reapings were rigged, although she had only been eleven at the time. They had been happy, despite everything. The Capitolians did not want anybody to remain happy. Eventually it had turned into hate. It was careless hate, but it was the only thing that kept her going.

"Then you'd still be unsafe," she said, looking down-trodden for the first time in days. She was feeling it too, as she knew exactly how little it was going to work. The Capitol had always been ruling them. They had been for all of the history he had learned. If the districts rebelled against the Capitol in the Dark Days it meant that they had been in control even then.

"That's the point. After that it would be Jia or Hector or…" Earl cut off. Or numerous other people they knew and met that were still younger than them. All of them could be reaped for the Hunger Games, if they were overly rebellious. The fear that somebody they knew would be chosen for the Hunger Games was the only thing that kept them in line.

"You know, the Career districts have a point," Esther said eventually. Earl looked at her. It was the first time she had ever said anything positive about the people who killed the majority of the District 8 tributes. "They know, months or even years before, who is going into the Games. Normal, innocent, _decent_ people are safe."

"You really think there is anybody rich enough to spend time training and stupid enough to go into the Games?" Earl responded. When Esther shook her head, he turned around again. Then he got slightly worried, because Esther stood a better chance than most. "You're not going to volunteer, are you?"

"No, but I'd rather volunteer than be chosen," she answered.

"You should stop listening to what Mimi Catalpa says. She had nothing left to lose," Earl said quickly, remembering the interview of the girl Esther thought was one of their main hopes. She had never been. Any world where Mimi constituted as a hope was one where the inhabitants were already doomed. She'd basically stated, with actions rather than words, that death was the only way out of Panem, out of the Hunger Games. Death was the only thing that prevented them controlling you wholly.

_'Do you think you have a chance of winning?' Caesar said, when Mimi sat there with an elusive smile on her face. 'After all, you looked scared when you were reaped.'_

_'Who wouldn't have been?' Mimi answered his question with a question, the smile not shifting off her face. 'Even the Careers get shocked if they are reaped rather than volunteer. They know their odds, just as much as I know mine, and that way it seems like they aren't in their favour. I'd rather go on my own terms.' _

_'So you would have volunteered?' Caesar asked. Nobody knew anything about Mimi; she'd ensured that. _

_'No, but I wish I did,' Mimi said. For the first and only time, her smile was real. It ghosted across her face when she said that, knowing that she had said as much as she was planning to say. She told them the truth, but only ever as much of it as she wanted to reveal. The look in her eyes, for the first and only time before the time of her death, was rebellious. _

"'You've taken my life; I will at least take my death,'_"_ Esther quoted. It was the single most quotable line of the 68th Hunger Games and they had completely edited it out of the program. It was never in one of the repeats, or the highlights; only those that had watched it had heard it.

"Nobody remembers that," Earl said, his mind almost resorting to fatalism again. It was what happened in Panem. They could not fight it; anybody who tried would end up dead. Esther paled and nodded, her thoughts along the same lines, as she curled up against him shivering in the cold. Only several hours left, then they would be required to be at school. Then work. Then the whole process over and over again until they no longer required school. Then just work.

It was the life of everybody in District 8. There was a reason why there was so much hate.

* * *

**Iva**

Earl had gone into the stocks. Iva had heard it on the grapevine, also known as Cecelia, who had heard from her husband as he actually went into town. Iva had asked whether they'd managed to catch Esther, but nobody had heard anything. It was unlikely, especially as Esther hadn't actually been there. If she had, they surely would have caught her. She had absolutely no subtlety. There were no rumours about Calico. He probably had not been involved at all. He never was in these things.

Even when Cecelia came, Iva refused to leave Suffra's side. The drugs had probably worn off as Suffra was tossing and turning a lot, no longer relaxed, sometimes letting out small cries as she thrashed around. Iva stayed awake, concerned and watching her, torn between waking her and letting her sleep, unsure whether to leave her to her nightmares as she needed the sleep. Finally Iva curled up and slept in the chair, exhausted, sleeping lightly just in case Suffra woke up again.

"W-what are you still doing here?" Suffra asked her eventually, gently because she wasn't sure whether Iva was awake. Iva sat up quickly, wondering when her sister had woken up as before she had clearly been asleep.

"I didn't think you should be alone," Iva answered. "Plus, we haven't exactly slept in separate rooms for long." They had always had the same room before they had moved to Victor's Village, given that the shack contained one room in total for all of them. It was a large upgrade, and the house itself was good. Iva did not even know why she hated it. Was it because Suffra did, or because many of her friends looked at her like she was now a traitor for living there?

"I really am sorry," Suffra said.

"What were you dreaming about?" Iva asked, unsure what the best way to get close to her sister again was. Suffra was harbouring so much pain, and there did not appear to be any way for her to say the right thing.

"I don't want to talk about it," Suffra said.

So Suffra tried to get better. But she wouldn't talk about the arena, and it remained the elephant in the room nobody talked about. Suffra still paced at night, now that the bandages around her hand prevented her from clasping the knife correctly. Iva often waited outside her door, not wanting to go inside as she did not know whether doing that would be the best thing.

All in all, it did not really get better. Perhaps Cecelia was right and the Victory Tour would have to come first. Iva grew tenser as she thought about it, especially when Suffra broke down in the middle of the night and sobbed. Iva or their parents would come in then, but Suffra usually wanted to be on her own. At that stage the best thing to do was simply take away the knife to prevent her hurting herself again. Suffra really should not have be holding a dangerous weapon, especially when her emotional state seemed similar to the day she had come home covered in her own blood.

Like all the previous mini-rebellions, the first set of strikes stopped again after half a week. More followed, then they stopped. The same people could not strike for long as they did not do it large scale enough. Peacekeepers always managed to push them down. Finally, after two weeks, they stopped trying. The town became dangerous, and Iva did not allow Suffra out of her sight during the day again, much to her sister's annoyance. Even when the amount of Peacekeepers returned to normal again, everything just seemed darker as time passed.

Iva was afraid. She did not know whether anybody in town she knew was still alive or whether they had been made an example of, and Wil had heard nothing. Most of the time she stayed in Victor's Village, and rarely did she try to venture out again.

When the Victory Tour grew nearer, the tension seemed to rise more. Suffra was not just training at night but during the day as well, especially after her hand healed, and there was not a single piece of wooden furniture that had not been carved or damaged because for some reason that seemed to calm her.

"Can I train with you?" Iva asked, and Suffra jumped around with her knife raised, shocked at her presence. Iva was shocked too, realizing that she should have knocked. It was one of the common sense things she should do, if she wanted to avoid a knife in her gut. "I've got nothing better to do, and I've already made enough food into jam to last half the district through winter." That was actually the intention, as they could buy enough food now to last them for decades. "What do you even do?"

Suffra fixed her eyes on her sister, looking like she was judging her. "Experiment." There was a line of empty cans on a table, and she aimed her knife at one of them. It skimmed off the can, hitting close to the centre without finding purchase, and it clattered against the wall behind the table. Suffra looked annoyed, even though the can clattered to the ground, but then she started laughing. "It doesn't always work well."

She retrieved her knife, because she only appeared to have one, and placed it back in her belt again. Instead she raised a slingshot, collecting a small rock she had laid out on the table. That time her aim was better, hitting the can dead centre.

"What do you really do all this time?" Iva asked, seeing that there was nothing decent. Suffra had clearly been playing target practice, but it was absolutely nothing to do with training she did. Usually pillows were used, simply because there were no dummies or targets. There was only a tiny chance of a knife actually being able to imbed itself in the cans, and they both knew it.

"Sometimes I go out," Suffra said. "There is nowhere to go though. I tried to find a tree once and I ended up finding the fence first." _Fence _was a loose term. With the height and the way it was electrified, it went beyond just a 'fence' and was more of an impenetrable barrier.

Iva knew her sister was still not telling her everything. The light mood she was currently putting on was forced. Surely Suffra should know that 'getting better' did not involve acting all the time, although it was probably just her defence mechanism.

"Can I try with the slingshot?" Iva asked. There was no way to hurt anybody with a small slingshot, so it seemed like something relatively harmless to do. She pulled the band back and the rock clattered onto the ground, almost falling onto her feet. "How do I stop it falling down?"

"You have to release the rock and the band at the same time," Suffra said, her expression unreadable. Iva thought she probably was better than before, seeing as she was sleeping slightly more and had not broken down again, but it was not the same. Everything just felt weird, for both of them.

"I know, I know," Iva giggled, trying again.

"Point at what you are trying to aim for, and pull back as far as you can," Suffra ordered, and Iva laughed as she did exactly that. "Now let go." Iva released the band and the rock flung across the room, hitting the can next to the one she was aiming for.

"Bull's-eye," Iva lied, then started giggling. She was pleased when Suffra joined in, laughing along with her.

"Just… yeah, okay," Suffra said, starting to say something but cutting off again. She gave Iva an uneasy smile. "I'm sorry for everything, you know. Sorry it isn't the same." Suffra actually thought all of this was her fault, although it wasn't.

"It's not your fault. And it will get better," Iva insisted. "I know it will." She pulled the slingshot back again and aimed for the same can. This time the rock ricocheted off the top but the can failed to fall over. Honestly, she was impressed that after only two successful shots she was that good already, which said a lot about her usual ability to aim.

Iva was not even sure about the accurateness of her own statement. Cecelia was fine, mostly, and she was the one Iva was basing her assessment on primarily. The Victors of District 8 seemed to recover alright, not turning to drugs or alcohol like those in some of the other districts. She still held onto hope that after the Victory Tour everything would become better, like that it was the only blockage in the tunnel preventing Suffra from being able to make it to the light.

She also realized that she was not looking forward to the Victory Tour at all. It suddenly occurred to her that, although it should have done ages before, she would have share her sister with the Capitol. Suffra would have to return there every year like all of the Victors under fifty did, whether she was mentoring or not, and being in the Capitol only ever meant bad things.

There was nothing Iva could do about it either. The Victory Tour would just be the first of many of such trips, although it would surely be the worst, and it would just go on.

* * *

The weather continued to grow colder. The jacket did nothing as Iva headed into the town, trembling with the temperature and wind. Luckily it was always slightly warmer in the urban areas, but not by much. It had been weeks since she'd been to town, and the last time she had checked Calico had been on the whipping post for rumours of some sort of strike being planned. They were just rumours now. No actual strikes had happened in nearly three months. The Peacekeepers worked on the basis that he was guilty, simply because there was no strike after he was whipped.

"It's cold," Iva said pointlessly as she entered his room in the high-rise flats. Much of the population of District 8 lived in them, and he was closer to her new house in Victor's Village than her old one. "Are you sure you don't want money for some heating?"

"I don't want your charity," Calico said again. It was not the first time he had refused her. There were fabrics blocking out the broken windows, keeping the room slightly warmer although it was nothing like the heating her family had now. "This isn't the worst winter we've had." He moved stiffly over to her, motioning for her to come in. "Don't let the heat out."

"Sorry," Iva mumbled, closing the door behind her. "If you want, you can… no, you'll just take that as charity as well. There is nothing wrong with taking charity."

"It is from them," Calico answered. "And I don't think they see it as giving charity much either. They'll probably punish Suffra if she gives out too much money, as that would be seen as rebellion like basically everything else that isn't being beaten down and working."

Calico was different to Earl, as he did not want to become part of a rebellion. If anything, he just wanted things to stay the way they were, although it was not always great, as in that case he felt like he had a little control over it. Iva knew that as soon as there were any sparks of rebellion that had a chance not to crash and burn at the first hurdle, Esther would be in no matter whether it increased her chances of going into the Hunger Games tenfold. Earl would be the same, although he had more years left in which he could possibly be picked.

"Do you think the Reapings are rigged?" Iva asked, curious. The Reapings were not a topic often spoken of amongst people, as not acknowledging its existence seemed to calm many people down. Apart from the Victory Tour, the Reapings were something Iva just kept thinking about. She was worried about her friends especially Esther and Earl, but she doubted that she would be reaped twice. The odds were against it, unless it was rigged, and even if it was rigged the risk of a further uprising would not be impacted by reaping her because she had no real part in any rebellion.

"I don't think they'd usually bother," Calico said, echoing her thoughts. "If they want to punish people, they'd use capital punishment instead of waiting up to a year and sending a pair of the offenders into the Games. And if they did it too often, it would be far too suspicious to be worth it."

Hearing it from somebody else made her relieved, as she was not the only one thinking that. Her parents had told her close enough the same thing, but they had lied to her for her own good before. Everything now seemed like a mixture of lies and half-truths, and the former of those two things was by far the most common.

"That actually helps, you know," Iva said.

"I'm sure Suffra won't have to mentor any of her friends. It's a large district, she does not know that many people proportionally," Calico said. "None of us will be reaped." With the last sentence, he sounded like he was still trying to convince himself. He had three more Reapings left to get through much like she did, but he also had his family to worry about like most people in the district.

The one positive was that Suffra was now safe from any further Reapings. However, the price paid for that was too high. Suffra would probably happily take the Reapings instead of having to mentor the unfortunate person who got chosen.

"I do wish that not everything was about the Hunger Games," Iva said wistfully, again looking around. She really should stop spending time with Esther, or pointing out that the Capitol was either imperfect or fallible.

Calico sighed. "Could you please not say that in my family's apartment?"

"Sorry," Iva mumbled. She sighed. This was the way things were. They would always remain that way, no matter what anybody did unless Snow and the top twenty ruling Capitolians simultaneously decided to murder each other or kill themselves.

So nothing changed. There was hate in the air, people yelled in the streets. Peacekeepers came in, beating them to the ground when they glimpsed any rebellion. When it neared the Victory Tour, there was so much tension in the air that all one had to do was light a match and everything would erupt in a ball of fire.

Physically, people did what they had always done. Mentally, it was a standoff between the district citizens and the Capitol. Any spark would do. Their hate was that intense, and it would burn.

* * *

**Secondary A/N: Nobody's answered me yet. Do you think I write better in first or in third person? I am honestly curious for a different story I am writing (sorry, not fanfiction, so it will not find its way online). **

**Tertiary A/N: The Victory Tour might be slightly different. I will do meetings with a few of the Victors, especially those which were mentoring. This, as far as I know, did not happen in Katniss's one, but there was ****_absolutely no _****reason Snow would want to prevent Katniss getting to know the previous Victors, right? For those of you that cannot detect sarcasm, please reread the previous sentence. **

**Also, there will be a dinner at the mayor's house. I'm not sure whether that happened in the original or not, as I haven't read the Victory Tour part in absolutely ages. I might change it slightly, but don't count on it. Either way, the Victory Tour might be slightly different. I've already written it, but it was around 15k words long excluding the Capitol, so I am going to split it into three chapters.**

**I'll probably update soon, especially as I have chapters already written. Please leave reviews and tell me what you think. :) **


	5. Victory Tour: Divided

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. I hope this does not go too far from the original version of the Victory Tour. This is the first chapter of the Victory Tour. Districts 10, 9, 7 and 6 should be in the next chapter, including parts about Walton's family and Mimi's brother. **

* * *

**Victory Tour: Divided**

**Suffra**

One hour. That's how long she had left, until they would arrive. Baba, her escort, plus her prep team and stylist. Then to District 12. Straight to District 12, then 11, then 10, then 9, skipping over 8 and going to 7. She would get to return to her own district right at the end, but she would have to look at Stich, her district partner's, family. Before she had been avoiding them, or at least not actively searching them out. During the tour she would not have the option.

She had not even tried to protect her district partner, or even thought about him much. Actually, all in all, she had probably spoken to him on five occasions, but he was from her district. There was some expectation that she should have protected him. Or at least not started allying with one of the Career districts instead.

"Only two weeks. Then we'll see you again," Iva reassured her, but she sounded like she was reassuring herself as well. "Then it'll be over."

"At least it is District 12 first," Suffra murmured. It sounded bad, but she would not have been able to cope if they started with District 11. Hawk, the male tribute, would have been her first kill although it was not credited to her. But District 12 would be bad enough. The girl had been killed rather gruesomely by her ally, and she felt like she owed them an explanation although there was no good one she could give.

"Will they have a phone on the train?" Iva asked, and Suffra did not know. The first time she'd gone she hadn't exactly looked whether they'd had phones as she'd had bigger things on her mind and her family did not have a phone for her to call them. Now they had, although technically it was hers as a Victor and the Capitol's property generally.

"Let's not talk about the Tour," Suffra said quickly, although in less than an hour she would have no choice. She'd have to act for Caesar Flickerman; her every move would be analysed and broadcast. "How's Calico now?"

"He still refuses to take our money," Iva said. "You know, when you get back, I'm going to have a… well, cook a massive meal for everybody. I can say it's a celebration, so they won't be allowed to stop it." Suffra pretended not to notice how her sister avoided saying the word 'feast', or even what the word always meant in every Games. She'd told herself she was not going to think about it, not for another hour.

"You should do that. How many people do you think you'll be able to cook for?" Suffra asked. Iva had been practicing in the kitchen a lot, and what she made did not quite compare to the Capitol but got close.

"I don't know. Maybe I could employ people," Iva said, sounding excited now. "And overpay them, but as it's a job they would not be taking charity. I'm sure Cecelia will let us borrow her kitchen as well." Despite herself, Suffra smiled at the prospect of the poor families eating a big meal together.

"Do you think we can find massive tables to set up in Victor's Village?" Suffra asked. It was the obvious place to put them, so they were not sitting in the streets. "And invite everybody from the factories." She smiled again but heard the clock ticking loudly, bringing her back to the present. Only half an hour left, and they would be there. Or they might come early, knowing Capitolians and their excitement to get things started.

Suffra gripped her knife in her hand and started running it against the wooden table repeatedly, making deep lines and patterns. If she could do it to wood she could defend herself against people with softer flesh. Only half an hour. Less than that. Her breathing came out ragged and she tried to make herself numb. It was easier when it came to the Capitol just to be numb.

"Suffra," Iva said gently and insistently, like she had learned to do with practice. "Focus on my voice. You are fine. Nobody is going to hurt you. Nothing is going to happen to you." Suffra tried to focus on being numb, but it didn't help. Nothingness. When it got too bad, sometimes she simply felt nothing. Hopefully that would happen. It was easier to control than the pain, although when she felt nothing she saw no reason to control it.

"Only two weeks," Suffra told herself. Then she could return home, and the Reaping wasn't for months. She would be made to mentor, but hopefully she would not know any of the children who were doomed. But then she would know them. It was something which scared her to think about.

Everything seemed to go quickly. The doorbell rang and she went to open it, and her prep team embraced her enthusiastically. Baba hopped in following them, taking in Suffra with a squeal of disappointment.

"Have you not plucked your eyebrows since the last time we saw you?!" Baba shrieked. "And your hair. Randal, you have to get some products on that pronto. You'll be on camera before reaching the train. Quick. We are now behind schedule." Even though they were five minutes early.

Quickly they whisked Suffra away, making her take a bath and scrubbing her down, all the time babbling about how they had not had a Victor from District 8 in years and, for all but one of them, she was their first Victor.

"I was moved up here the year after Cecelia won, you see. I thought that District 8 might finally be getting better and have a hope. Finally I've been proven right," Tania, one of her prep team with bright purple-pink hair and facial tattoos, told her.

"Good for you," Suffra said, unable to prevent the bitter sarcasm coming into her words. It still shocked her, more so now that she was a Victor, how they could talk about death so casually. It was like their whole lives also revolved around the Hunger Games, but instead of dreading it they enjoyed it.

"Yes. It's good for you, too," Kiki, the second woman in her prep team, said. Her appearance was similar to Tania, but unlike Tania she also sported cat whiskers and her tattoos changed colour depending on the light and angle you stared at them. "You're going to be spending a lot of time in the Capitol. You weren't as popular as that boy from 7, mind you, but we'll still love to have you there."

"And all the best parties…" Randal said, cutting off his statement as those five words seemed to justify themselves to anybody from the Capitol.

"You'll have your first one in the Capitol to look forward to. But first to District 12. I hear it really is awful there so I am not looking forward to it," Kiki giggled, her tone not matching the words she was saying. Not that the tone of a Capitolian frequently did, but even less so than usual.

"I went to 12 once," Randal said. "Okay, it was a virtual tour. Still: very bad. District 12 makes District 11 look like luxury. I'm so glad I don't have to prep the… _people… _from either of those districts. Can you believe they almost stuck me with District 12?"

"No. You are way better than District 12," Tania reassured. "Okay, we are just about ready to do your hair, Suffra. Lean back and wash it once more. I can't believe you got so many tangles in it."

Suffra ignored them, but watched them carefully. It had not been this hard the first time, but after the Games especially with 'her' fashion which their fashion was based on, she thought they looked similar to one of the mutts in her Hunger Games. Sometimes she felt like they would transform into the dolphin mutts and start attacking her if she stopped watching them even for a second. Even she knew she was being ridiculous. There were so many ways a regular Capitolian could kill her; they did not need to be mutts to be dangerous. At least with the mutts she could fight back.

"Do you even comb your hair? You wear a wig on top, so nobody would see it," Suffra said, trying to get into the conversation to calm her but managing to offend her whole prep team somehow. Tania looked annoyed, fondling with her wig absently to be sure that it was still in place like Suffra had insulted her style instead of asking a question. The other two simply glared.

In their minds, it was fine that she had killed other tributes. Yet if she started insulting fashion she was evil.

Their chatter decreased after that as they thought they were giving her the silent treatment, and she was glad for that. However, that left her to her own thoughts. Tulip, the girl from 12, who Krystal had beaten to death. The boy who had been killed by Katran in the bloodbath.

"Put this on," Randal said at the end, still not happy with her. Her stylist, Ciliar, would not be coming with her but had designed all the outfits for the tour. Apparently he had something far more important to do in the Capitol. According to her prep team he had a massive fashion gig, and he had always hated her even though she was the person who'd made him famous. Suffra pulled the dress on, and Kiki tightened the corset. What she was wearing could only be defined as a dress in the loosest possible terms.

Her leg, luckily, were covered in black leggings with blue cut-outs. It did not come with a jacket, so the top remained as skimpy as it had been when she first pulled it on. Despite it being winter, the neckline dropped steeply and the back was mostly missing revealing the brightly coloured corset. She looked like a clown, especially with the coloured pink and purple makeup and hair with a replica crown of the same colour.

"Let's go!" Baba trilled, passing Suffra a pair of heels and grabbing her wrist. The first part was a small interview with Caesar on the screens while she was still in her home district when she was at the station, then straight to District 12. It was hard to keep up with Baba as it had been months since Suffra had walked in high heels.

Suffra put on a fake smile as Baba led her to the car parked just outside Victor's Village.

"Have you decided on your talent yet?" Baba asked. Suffra shrugged, feeling for the knife near her waist she no longer had. Surely Baba had seen what she had done to the table when she was waiting. It had probably been up to Iva to entertain her.

"I don't know," Suffra mumbled. "I could do the wood carving thing. How often to people check up on what your talent is."

"Quite often, providing you are popular. And you're the most recent Victor, and my Victor, so you are popular," Baba said. "And whatever you did in the Games does not count. Do something everybody will love. Finnick Odair's talent is poetry, and all the women in the Capitol love it." By her tone, 'all the women in the Capitol' included Baba.

"I'm sure that's not the only thing they love about Finnick," Suffra said, and Baba looked even more excited.

"He was mentoring last year. We should be meeting him on the Tour," she squealed in her Capitolian accent, sounding truly excited. The car pulled up at the station and Suffra got out first, a large fake smile on her face. She waved at the cameras almost nervously to begin with. Like Mimi had done in the chariots... it was only going get worse. She was going to keep remembering the tributes constantly during the tour. That was the point.

_Prepare to hate yourself even more_, Suffra told herself. She had to play the crowds, give them what they wanted.

"How have you been adjusting to your new home in Victor's Village?" one of the reporters asked quickly, and as that question was not directly about the Games she answered it.

"It's very nice and luxurious," Suffra said, almost gushing. "It's brilliant of the Capitol to have provided it to me. I don't think I deserve such generosity." Every time she had to speak to a Capitolian like that, in the persona she adopted for the Capitol, she hated herself more. Maybe that would stop at some point. It was hardly possible to hate herself much more than she hated herself now.

"Suffra! What are your feelings on the Victory Tour? Which districts are you most looking forward to?" another reporter asked. Once again she worded it positively, talking about the districts themselves instead of the people.

"Ooh, that's a tough one. All the districts are different. District 11 with its vast expanses of fields, District 9 with the masses of grain, District 7 with the forests and trees… there are too many choice," Suffra answered, listing pretty much all she knew about the occupations and appearance of the other districts.

When it came to the people, two of those three districts she was dreading more than the rest. She doubted she would be able to enjoy the possible beauty of the districts. Baba pulled her through the crowds so they stood at the top of the platform. There was a massive screen displaying Caesar Flickerman's face.

_Play the Capitol; play the Capitol. _

"So Suffra. I won't keep you for long, but may I ask you have you felt now that your prep team have finally been allowed to return to you?" Caesar asked. Suffra's smile grew even faker.

"They've got so many stories of things I have missed out on," she said. If Iva was there, she would be able to tell how much every word she said was a lie or an untruth. But the Capitolians weren't able to tell the difference. "You should have heard them talk about it. I hear there is going to be an epic party I'm going to attend."

_Act like it's a choice. A bit like volunteering. That was a choice. A desperate one, but a choice. _

"Of course. And it's the lovely Ciliar who styled your outfit today. Do you still think you look like a mutt?" Caesar asked humorously, referring to the completely honest statement she had blurted after she had become a Victor.

"Yup," Suffra said. "But mutts are powerful, the Capitol's own creation and pride. I'm sure you'll agree that it is not the worst thing I could be." True, except for the last part, which was only partially true. Would it have been easier if Walton had won? Not Katran. She did not regret killing Katran, not after what he had done to the other tributes. After six months all she felt was hate for him.

"I should let you get going now," Caesar said, still smiling. "I'll see you when you are at the Capitol. You're right. We've got a massive celebration planned for you."

The screen flickered off and Suffra was allowed to board the train. She slipped into one of the seats gratefully, freezing cold due to the temperature and the length of the dress, and exhausted from facing the reporters.

* * *

_Dark. Dark. The forest. Early stages. Tulip was there, so was the boy. She did not know his name. She had heard it so many times. Why did she not know it? She was between both of them, ready to run. The Cornucopia, glinting in the sun. Now there was sun?_

_"Don't go," the boy said. She turned to look at him, but she had to run. She could not get distracted. Why was he talking to her? They had never spoken. Not like Tulip. Okay, exactly like Tulip, except she had seen Tulip. Before the arena. Wished her good luck, although she was obviously going to die. _

_"Don't leave us," Tulip said, her voice pitiful. "Don't leave us to die." Krystal was there now, cocking her head and preparing to run for the weapons. The gong. She already should be running, getting away. Like she had done before, leaving everybody else to die. _

_Nobody spotted her. She stayed, seeing the boy from 12 being cut open by Katran's blade, falling to the ground. And Tulip, her body being beaten to the ground by Krystal, but it seemed like both of their eyes were fixed on her. Because she left them. Because she left and they died. Because she survived. _

_"I'm sorry," she yelled desperately. "But I had my own family to get back to." _

_"What about our families?" Tulip asked, her voice haunting. The boy echoed it, blood still pouring from his wounds. "What about our families?"_

_What about their families? She saw them, faceless and standing beneath pictures of Tulip and the boy. The boy she still did not know the name of. Nameless, faceless, but still filled with such sorrow. Sorrow that she had lived when they died, in a massive pool of their own blood. _

Suffra shook when she awoke, letting out a small cry. Not screaming. She did not want to wake anybody else. How could she do this? How could she face the families of the tributes who hadn't made it? Even tributes who she had barely seen, like the pair from 12, haunted her. Like all the previous years, when other Victors had won, the images of the fallen tributes were displayed on massive screens.

It was not light yet; barely three in the morning. At roughly midday they would arrive at District 12. She would have to give a speech which she had vaguely memorized, and could only just about say without choking up. That was it, especially as District 12 had not been any of her allies. For her allies she could add something on at the end, but it had to be Capitol approved. She had not managed to write anything about that yet though, but she felt that she had to say something special for Hawk.

Mimi. Walton. Especially Krystal. Suffra had no idea how she was going to get through Districts 11, 7 and 1. It was too soon that they arrived. Too soon as it felt like she had hours, but it moved forwards just like time always had done before.

Cecelia came to collect her when she had to get ready, sitting down on the bed next to her. She had not moved, even though she had not gone back to sleep.

"I can't do this," Suffra said, her voice wavering. How could she do it? Rub her victory into the face of those who weren't as lucky, if lucky was the word to describe it. It wasn't, but at least she was alive. It was better than the resulting state for any of the other twenty-three tributes.

"You only have to go on the Victory Tour once," Cecelia assured. "When it is over, you don't have to go again."

Suffra sighed, burying her face in her hands as she did not want Cecelia to see her expression. Two weeks of this. That was almost as long as her arena, and it could not be quite that bad. Right? After all, she was not going to die. Iva would be fine, as she would definitely return. She had to keep going now though, for her sister. No giving up. She was going to keep going.

"Okay," she said weakly, getting up. Once again, her prep team had to make her over. Kiki scolded her for not sleeping more, saying that she looked pale with dark rings under her eyes. Luckily for the Capitol, they could cover it up using makeup. Her dress was the most expensive she had worn yet. In addition to her usual colours, it was embroidered with gems to such an extent not a single slimmer of light could reach it without being reflected.

The most expensive dress, to the poorest district where people no doubt starved to death like they sometimes did in District 8. That seemed to rub it in worse than her even being there, but only marginally.

Again, she got a replica crown. The real one was still in the Capitol, and remained there. The only time a Victor got it was for the crowning ceremony. Still, the replica was golden and expensive, almost as much as the dress was.

She got everything, because she played by their rules. They got nothing. Poor District 12.

The train pulled into the station. Suffra instantly saw the run down nature of the district as she passed through. It was a small district, with only a few thousand residents. She and Baba took the car to the Justice Building, where Suffra waited for when she was meant to go out. The major introduced her, calling out her name.

Nobody cheered. Suffra actually respected them for that, taking in their hollow faces and desperate eyes. Some of them looked like they were about to keel from starvation, some looked at her like they had already given up. Another year, the tributes from 12 were dead. Just like they would be next year, and the year after that. Except it could be them.

Many of them might not even last that long, but it somehow seemed like a better fate to die of starvation in your home district than being brutally murdered in the Hunger Games.

Suffra tripped over the words in her speech, her resolve to keep to just those words broken. Poor people. She thanked them for their sacrifice, like she was meant to, and the words made her throat dry. They'd stood no chance.

The families. Tulip's family looked at her with dead eyes. Two brothers and a sister, all too old to be reaped. The boys and the father looked like they were covered in coal dust, which no doubt stayed in their pores no matter how hard they washed. The mother was crying, tears streaming down her face.

The male tribute. Cal. That was his name. He had two younger brother, both of which could easily still be reaped. Their mother had her arms wrapped around them, and they looked even more starving than the other family. All of them were crying.

Suffra felt tears come to her eyes looking at them. She finished her script, then words false and dry on her lips. Then she added her own lines. It did not matter that they weren't allies of hers.

"Before I went into the arena, I wished Tulip good luck. Not because I thought that she would make it back, but because maybe she would be able to…" she did not know how to finish that. "…to have a shot at… I'm sorry, I can't finish that. But I did not want her to die like that. Nobody deserved to die like that. I'm sorry to all of you. I really am sorry for your loss."

She placed the microphone back on its stand and turned around. The major gave a small speech, but she was no longer listening. She wanted to flee, to escape, like she had always done back in District 8. But she couldn't. Her feet seemed to be fixed in place until she was told she could go back into the Justice Building.

"You probably should not have done that," Cecelia said. "You know what is seen as rebellion, and District 8 is still one of the districts the Capitol is watching the most." She seemed sort of concerned but not overly worried. Her stammered out speech would not be seen as rebellion, it would probably not even rile up Esther. Even the Peacekeepers looking at her the wrong way riled up Esther these days; Earl and Amil really were the only ones preventing her from being executed as a rebel on a daily basis.

"I'm sorry. I just… had to say something," Suffra said. She took a deep breath. "Just eleven more districts and the Capitol." But it was not over yet. Usual protocol for the Victory Tour dictated that the Victor still had to meet the families of the dead tributes then have a dinner at the mayor's house. She would then have to stay overnight in District 12 before the train left for District 11 the following morning.

Meeting the families were horrible. Suffra tried to remain strong for the cameras, but the sorrow on their faces was exactly like those in her dream, except now they had actual faces. They might get over it, but they wouldn't. Not really. The families and the friends of the tributes would never forget. Dinner was not much better.

"I really am sorry," she said between Baba's babblings, completely meaning it. Baba was there, so was Cecelia the previous living Victor from District 12 Haymitch Abernathy, who looked drunk at best. He slurred something about how they were doomed anyway, which promptly made the atmosphere in the room even more depressing.

That night she stayed in Victor's Village. The only other house which was occupied was Haymitch's, so she, Cecelia, and their prep team could each have individual houses for the night. Cecelia decided it was best to stay in the same house, not trusting Suffra by herself.

"How are you feeling?" Cecelia asked, looking at Suffra cautiously as she grabbed the biggest knife out of the kitchen she could find and hugging it protectively to her chest.

"I won't hurt myself. Don't worry," Suffra whispered, still keeping hold of the hilt of the knife. The scar on her palm from when she had cut herself after the strike was just fading from an angry shade of red, but she still felt shame every time she looked at it. Especially with the way she had reacted in front of her sister and caused them all that worry. She could not do that to them again. But it still hurt. She wasn't sure how long she could fight it.

"Give me the knife, Suffra," Cecelia said, and Suffra handed it to her. She did not want to fight. With tears in her eyes she ran up the stairs and hid in her room, her back pressed against the door so that Cecelia would not be able to come in.

That night it was Hawk's face who was in her mind, on top of Tulip's and Cal's and that of their families. The girl from 11 made and appearance, all of them dying, acting like she was there. Especially the pair from 11, as the girl was torn apart by insect mutts in such a gruesome way. Suffra saw herself poisoning Hawk dozens of times, over and over and over again.

Cecelia woke her with comforting words, but it did not help. She still sobbed, tears streaming out of her eyes as she dreaded what was to come.

* * *

District 11 was worse. Dread and self-hate filled her. Her hands trembled over her knife, wanting desperately to make herself bleed but resisting the urge. She deserved it, but her family did not. She could not do that to them. The crown was still on her head. Her prep team gave her another dress after making her over. The colours were the same again, but this time only one shoulder was covered. The dress hung around her hips, accentuating her waist, then going right down to her knees. The dress did not come with tights so her legs would be cold.

She was glad for that. At least something she deserved. She might as well have killed Hawk. Seeing his family was too much. As soon as she went up to stage she started crying. The tears smudged her makeup as she choked out her speech. The words would not come. Hawk's vomiting up blood after she had poisoned him. Hawk's head falling at Krystal's feet. The insect mutts eating their way out of the girl from 11's eyes.

"I'm sorry," she choked again, not managing to get through the whole speech. Hawk's mother was glaring at her, hate in her tear-filled eyes. There was a little boy. A toddler and an eight year old.

"You're the reason he's dead!" the mother yelled, the words breaking free. The hate in her voice was astounding. Given the chance, the woman would kill Suffra. And Suffra would allow her. At that moment she decided she would happily have that woman tear her limb from limb. The father held his wife, telling her to calm down, but she was cursing loudly calling Suffra every name under the sun. "You're the reason Chasper will never know his brother! You're the reason Hawk's dead!"

Suffra kept watching them. But then the man from the opposite podium screamed, his voice also raw was tears.

"You say that like your son wasn't responsible for Heather's death!" he yelled. He was the uncle of the female tribute, whose name Suffra only now knew to be Heather. There was no evidence on the podium of Heather's parents, but she had four siblings all ranging in age between thirteen and twenty-two. Suffra broke free from her silent tears, but the words still refused to come.

"I-I-I, on b-behalf of the Capitol thank the tributes for their sacrifice, as is necessary as penance for… the u-uprisings in the Dark Days," Suffra stammered out. The Peacekeepers had their weapons raised to the crowd, just out of the camera shot. She managed to get her speech through to the end, her makeup completely smudged and her eyes red by the time she was done.

"I really am sorry. For… for all of y-you," she trembled. "I should not have killed Hawk. He shouldn't have died. N-neither of the tributes should have."

Outward anger replaced self-hate for only a moment and she fondled with the replica crown, undoing the pins and throwing it to the ground of the stage. This time she did not wait for the mayor. She walked off, her legs almost giving out from under her with the heels.

When she was through the doors, she threw them to the ground as well. Screaming in anger she threw her second heel at the wall, and it clattered to the floor. Cecelia ran up to her, her expression guarded but shocked.

Suffra did not look at her, pulling her knees up to her chest and shaking. The way Hawk's mother had sounded. She probably hadn't meant to shout. Neither of the families had, and then it had started. They hated her. This district, although her exit had not left any room for the necessary applause or even a more honest reaction, hated her. Heather's uncle might have come to her aid, sort of, but he was just standing up for Heather against Hawk rather than Suffra.

"We're going back to the train," Cecelia said, her voice even although her eyes were panicked. Suffra looked at her in shock, her emotions rapidly retreating into numbness. She had absolutely no idea what was going on, and let Cecelia lead her away by the hand like she was a small child.

When she was next aware, they were on the train. There had been some fields, then the train again, but it passed through her like it did not exist.

"Suffra. Speak to me. Say something," Cecelia said, this time around sounding desperate as well. Suffra kept staring straight ahead. Hawk should have made it back. He did not really kill his district partner. It was still credited to him.

"Ten more," she whispered, sounding broken. Weren't they meant to still have the dinner at the mayor's house? She had no idea what was going on, but was not sure that she wanted to know.

That night, she dreamed of the parents of the District 11 tributes killed by Peacekeepers because they had spoken out. With the security they had, and the harshness of the punishments, that probably was what happened.

* * *

**Okay, what do you think? Please leave a review. :)**


	6. Victory Tour: The Letters

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**Okay, it's been just over a month. I've been writing more of a non-fanfiction story so anything I update will have been prewritten (actually, I placed all of the district Victory Tour chapters on my doc manager at the same time; I just haven't got around to updating it). As I don't appear to have got any reviews for the last chapter, let's see how this one does. **

* * *

**Victory Tour: The Letters**

**Suffra**

District 10 was relatively uneventful. Out of all the districts she had been in so far it had the most Victors, standing in at five in total. She did not add anything more on to her speech and only gave the classic one, her words flowing better. There was nothing she could do to comfort Celia, the girl's, family, because the painful death at Katran's hand which resulted in Celia end had almost killed her as well. There was no comfort she could give them for that.

The boy she did not even know. He must have been killed in the bloodbath. His face was not one of them she remembered the most, one which still haunted her dreams but she could not even have managed to place a district on until now.

Suffra said two words to the mentors of the tributes, and that was it. She apologized again. If she had stopped running now she was apologizing instead. That still did not seem appropriate, but she repeated the words over and over although it did not make anything better.

Next it was District 9. The girl had been killed by Krystal. The boy had also been killed in the bloodbath. The reaction she got from the mentors, and even the families, was that as soon as they had been reaped everybody knew it was hopeless.

District 9 only had three Victors in total, the number District 8 had before she had won. Other than District 12, that was the worst for all of the districts. That night, everything got worse. It was District 7 next. District 7. Mimi's district. And Walton's.

When they pulled into the district she saw the trees, but she could not focus on them. She felt herself breaking down but would not allow herself. She couldn't.

"You've memorized the words by now. Just say them," Cecelia said. "Pretend they aren't there." It was not good advice, but they were both out of their depth whether they admitted it or not. Woof, who appeared to know what was going on slightly less every day, did not give much advice so that was all Suffra had.

So she said them, emotionlessly, trying not to spot Walton's family. There was somebody who looking in their mid-to-late twenties who was probably a brother, or a young uncle. The father was older, but that was all.

For Mimi, there was nobody at all. _She had nothing left to lose_. Everything clicked together, although she had heard exactly that said several times. Unlike the last two districts, she added something on at the end. "I was allies with neither of the tributes, but I guess Mimi sort of was with me. Either way, she helped a lot of people in the arena, and that was a very honourable thing to do. Much more so than anything I did. I'm sorry about Walton, but… yeah, that's all I can really say."

There was no family for Mimi Catalpa. That thought stuck in Suffra's mind, repeatedly. Walton's family had not been crying. If anything, they looked angry. But there was a large gap where Mimi's family should have been, but wasn't.

"Suffra Hadley," the man Suffra had assumed was Walton's brother came up to her. Like Walton, the man was at least twice her size and very muscular, and was obviously also a logger.

"I'm sorry," she said once again.

"I can't say I forgive you, but I am glad you won instead of Katran," he said, which reminded her of Walton in so many ways. Walton had wanted her to win instead of Katran as well. Most of Panem was voting against Katran in the end; only District 2 and the Capitol were bound to have been on his side.

"I don't want you to forgive me," Suffra answered. "You're his brother, aren't you?" The man nodded, and Suffra sighed. "I regret it, you know. A lot. But… but I had to get back to my own family and I didn't want to risk it."

"I know. It's just how the Games are played," Walton's brother said, like he was resigned to that. There was no anger, no tears, just resignation. Like it was something they could have done exactly nothing about. It was sort of surprising, especially as he looked like he was physically strong enough to rival the most fearsome Career Victor in a fight.

Suffra looked down onto the ground, not sure how to respond. She wanted to ask about Walton, or even about Mimi in a way, but was not sure whether anything she said would come across as insensitive.

"I don't despise you," he said eventually. "I should, you know. You killed my baby brother. I hate you, but I do not despise you." _Maybe that's because it was really Katran who killed him. I was only finishing the job. _

Walton's brother walked away after that, and Suffra felt a deep pessimistic feeling coming over her. She was not sure she had some hope left, but it seemed to diminish even further.

Out of the district Victors, out of the surviving three, two were drunk and one was high. Cecelia glared at them when they offered her some of the alcohol, but Suffra almost felt like it would be easier to go the same way. That was why she declined straight away.

That night, she stayed in District 7's Victor's Village. Suffra slipped into an unrestful sleep, tossing and turning and never going too far into unconsciousness. All she saw was flashes. Walton's death, full of blood. Mimi's, which in all the scenarios she imagined was also very bloody. Either way, both tributes turned out dead.

_"You've seen it now, haven't you? I had nothing left to lose," Mimi said in her haunting voice. "But Walton. He had family, and he had a chance. The whole of District 7 would have been better off if you died. And District 8 would have much preferred it as well." _

_"I thought I wanted you to win," Walton's voice came up. "You killed Hawk. It was you I should have killed. You are no better than Katran or Krystal." …_

Suffra woke up completely, screaming when she heard movement that wasn't her. She reached for her knife before remembering that Cecelia had confiscated it, worrying that she would hurt herself. The knocking on the window came again and Suffra pressed her back against the wall, her legs still tangled in the duvet.

She had no weapons. Somebody was coming. She had to flee, except they were already there. By the time she ran they would be in, and she was cornered against the wall, trapped in the prison of her blankets. The knocking came again, then there was a picking sound and the locked window slid open.

"Relax," a male voice said. "I don't wish to harm you. Switch the light on and you will see I have no weapons."

Suffra took in deep breaths, still on the verge of a breakdown. She clawed for the light switch, completely panicked, knowing that she was giving the boy a shot at her back. _It's not the Hunger Games. He will not hurt you. _Except what did she know? The light finally came on and she slumped down again, taking him in.

He was wearing completely black clothing. His hair was also black, his skin appeared olive, and he looked about fourteen. There was a hard set in his jaw and a look in his eyes which made him seem older, but really he was younger than her.

"My sister was right, you know," he said, his voice drifting over to her. He sounded haunting, speaking in the same way Mimi had. Was he Mimi's brother? Mimi did not have a brother. His eyes fixed right on to her panicked ones, the same way Mimi had done on several occasions in the arena as well. "It's all in the eyes. I suspected in the square, but could not get close enough. So I knew I had to visit you."

"You're Mimi's brother," Suffra stated what she suspected.

"Yes," he answered. "Although not by genes. I'm Ash. That is all you shall know about me." Suffra looked at him, and Ash waited for her to say something as he stared into her eyes. Unlike Mimi, his eyes weren't dead. He looked slightly haunted, like quite a few of the children in poorer districts did, but not completely hollow. There was something different about him, like there was with Mimi, as it seemed like the world would wait for him.

"I'm Suffra," Suffra said.

"I know who you are," Ash responded, and Suffra found her cheeks heating up although she was not sure why. It was something to do with his strong gaze. "Everybody in Panem knows who you are, or at least they think they do. They know your name, yes, and perhaps some other details which come up on every scoreboard. However, they know nothing about you. They don't really know who you are, they only know what you show them."

"You sound a lot like her, you know," she said.

"She taught me to do that," Ash said. "I've got something for you, or something that is meant for you. The Victor of the Hunger Games." He handed Suffra a letter, which had clearly already been opened. She slipped the piece of paper out again.

"Did you open this?"

"Me, some Capitolians… nothing is private. For example, there are at least four separate people outside this room who know I am here simply because they are monitoring you," Ash said.

"The Capitol can keep tabs on everybody. It's just whether they bother," Suffra noted. Ash nodded, a half smile on his face. Suffra cast her eyes down and started reading the note. Mimi's rough scrawl was sort of hard to read, which by the look on Ash's face was deliberate. It took Suffra a full minute to start deciphering it.

"Not all Capitolians checking would bother," Ash said in answer to her unasked question. Suffra read.

_Dearest Suffra,  
I am fully aware that we have not spoken yet, but you leak so much about you into the air for everybody to see if they bother to look. It is smart, really, as you know that they don't. Not after so many from District 8 have fallen. Even the Gamemakers care little of the fate of just another tribute.  
Even your training score. A four. Still smart, as the Careers will now overlook you. Except Krystal of course. From the moment saw your eyes I knew you were going to fight dirty. But you don't want to directly kill, not at the beginning.  
None of this is condolence. It is not meant to be. This is not forgiveness, as there was never anything to forgive. You have something to live for, and you should hope that hanging onto it will be enough. I will not tell you what is coming, because like the arena I doubt I know what to expect even though I have heard what it is like. I've asked a friend of mine to take care of you, somebody you'll meet soon enough.  
Mimi Catalpa_

"Would you like to read the others?" Ash asked. "They aren't titled to you, but I know you want to see who else she thought would have won. It's not like you are the first one, again."

"You've read all of them, haven't you?" Suffra asked. She was not going to ask who Mimi was talking about, as if Ash was right the room was bugged. Reading the letter Mimi had given to her gave her a strange unsettled feeling. Like Mimi was looking into her. She obviously wrote it before the arena, just after the training scores had come out.

Ash nodded. "All of them I received."

"Isn't that… wrong?" _Disrespectful_. That was the word she would have come out with, if she had given herself time to think.

"Compared to other things in Panem, it is nowhere near wrong. It's more like arming myself with information. Listening in to my sister's last thoughts about her fellow tributes," Ash said. For a moment, his face displayed sadness, and Suffra noticed although he had said that Mimi was his sister several times that it meant that he was close to her. She should have noticed it a lot sooner but she was preoccupied.

"Who else did she think was going to win?" Suffra asked instead.

"Walton," Ash said. "Although there are letters for Bert, Dina, Gregor, Krystal and Katran as well. I don't know if you know Gregor and Dina. They were in an alliance with her and Bert."

"I know," Suffra snapped, then sighed. "She didn't really think they were going to win, did she?"

"No," Ash stated. "It was more of an insurance." He handed her a lone envelope, which contained the separate letters. Suffra, unable to stop herself, read the one for Krystal first.

_Krystal,  
Congratulations for surviving the Hunger Games. I am sure by now that you realize nobody really wins. I am also sure that you are not going to read this.  
Out of all the Careers, I think you are probably going to last the longest. No doubt you are good, but you aren't exceptional. You were right not to trust your allies, as the girl everybody eventually knows you are going to ally with will do anything to get home and you are an obstacle.  
Dear Suffra, I know reading this is only going to make you feel worse.  
Mimi Catalpa. _

Suffra's mouth hung open. Mimi's certain voice rang out. She had never been betting on Krystal, and was also right. "How can she… she never expected…"

"She was trying to get Walton back, you know," Ash said.

"What about Bert?"

"She wanted to give him as long a life as possible then a quick death."

"W-what… w-why?" Suffra's voice shook.

"If you don't know the answer by now, you will know soon enough," Ash said. He walked back over to the window again and slid it open, lowering himself out so only his upper body was visible. "What, truly, is the cost of being a Victor?"

Then he lowered himself out of view completely, somehow finding purchase between the bricks. Suffra just stared at the window, rifling through the other notes. They were all to prospective Victors. Those were the only ones he had left her. Krystal's, and Katran's. Walton's must be with his family.

Slowly she turned Katran's one over and read.

_Katran  
Good luck for what is to come. You are going to have to act cocky, but give it a year or so and you won't be anymore. However, due to that same cockiness, I don't expect you shall be reading this either.  
Mimi Catalpa (the girl from 7, as you will not have learned my name)_

The notes would probably have been read by anybody inspecting if they really wanted to shut her up. That was why the notes did not say much at all. Yet even in her death Mimi knew more than the rest of them.

Her brother was like that too. Ash probably knew even more than Mimi did now. Suffra stared at the letters again, not attempting to go to sleep for the rest of the night. When Cecelia came in the morning to check on her, the window was still open, the light was on, and she quickly hid the letter to prevent her mentor from seeing them.

Somehow, that secret belonged simply to her. Hopefully. Although clearly Ash and whoever else was listening in knew as well.

* * *

Both of District 6's tributes had died in the bloodbath. Their families were mournful, but Suffra knew she had not played a part in their deaths. It was the mentors who were more haunting. Even though District 6 had the most Victors of the non-Career districts, standing at six, only three were still alive. Isaac and Noralee had won the 23rd and 27th Hunger Games respectively, and the most recent one who had won the 66th Hunger Games. Actually, they were the three most recent Victors from District 6 which said a lot.

When she saw the state of them she knew why. The two older ones were obviously on morphling, sickly looking but having this faraway yet happy look in their eyes. For a moment, just a moment, she envied them for their happiness. But she was not going to go there.

The remaining woman, Axanne, who was now eighteen, looked like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. She was pale, with dark rings under her eyes, but did not show any signs of having gone down the same road as her mentors yet.

Suffra avoided Axanne as much as she could, seeing from her face that it did not actually get better. The Morphlings made her feel better than Axanne did. At least they looked happy, with smiles on their faces as the giggled amongst themselves about colours which did not exist.

When she sat down next to them, without acknowledging them, they looked at her immediately and smiled at her colourful dress. Noralee ran her fingers along it and Suffra moved away rapidly, hiding as much as she could after that. Luckily they were not on camera. Nobody wanted to talk to her.

Again, that night, like she had done all the nights except the one after District 11, she stayed in Victor's Village. She turned down Cecelia's offer that they stay in the same house as she wanted to be on her own, but again Cecelia was insistent on removing everything she could possible use to hurt herself first including most knives. Suffra wanted to know what Cecelia would do about the cooker, but apparently it had to be plugged in first as this house was had not been stayed in before. The Capitolians usually only took up one or two houses whenever they visited, and since the 30th Hunger Games they hadn't been to District 6 much.

It was only when Suffra realized that it was District 5 next that she started feeling sick. Krystal had killed both of the tributes from 5, and Suffra was the one who had allied with Krystal. Usually, people from the poorer districts hated anybody who teamed up with Careers, especially the Career who killed both of the tributes from that district.

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess due to lack of sleep. She reread Mimi's notes repeatedly, but they only made everything worse. Even though she had not eaten in hours, she ran into the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. She could not do this. Why did she have to do this? Even the reminder of there only being six more districts including her own to live through, that she was half way there, did nothing.

Tears were streaming out of her eyes as she ran downstairs and quickly found the house the Morphlings were living in, both telling herself not to do this and wanting desperately to go along with it.

"Please, can you answer me?" she shrieked lowly through the door after knocking. There was no answer, so despite herself she tried Axanne's house, cursing herself for her weakness.

"Suffra?" Axanne asked, as if shocked that she was there. Suffra took in the youngest Victor from District 6, then looked down to the ground. "You look terrible." At least she had the decency to state things the way they were, although if she did it too often she would sound like somebody advertising doomsday.

"I have to get through District 5 tomorrow and District 5 were killed by my ally and they are going to hate me and I don't want to talk to my mentor and I am scared and…" Suffra bit her lip, stopping herself from babbling. She did not like Axanne or trust Axanne, and hated herself for being there at all. She did not want Axanne to know her, or think they were friends.

However, like the other living Victors from District 6 and some of the Victors from lower districts, she won without killing brutally and being despicable. That helped, although there was no way Suffra could really trust a killer. _You trusted Krystal… for a little bit, _a voice popped up in the back of her head.

"Um… come in?" Axanne said, like it was a question. With her sweet soft voice, could she only ask questions? She did not seem assertive at all. "Do you need any… help?" Her voice ground on Suffra's nerves, but found herself nodding along as she knew exactly what 'help' meant in District 6 terms.

"How do you get all of this?" Suffra asked.

"We pay for it," Axanne said, for only the second time not asking a question. Suffra wondered why she had such a supply, especially as she seemed tempted to use it. Just a little bit. Then a lot. Then eventually she would be like Isaac and Noralee, high all the time.

"I-I'll pay you back," Suffra said, but Axanne shook her head slowly.

"I don't care about money. I could use it as toilet paper now and still not get through it all," Axanne said, and Suffra wondered whether she considered using it to help the people in her district. She also didn't ask why Axanne was all alone in a big house, as Suffra's own house was filled with her family. She was not going to ask Axanne any questions which could add to her worry.

So Suffra ended up with a small bottle of morphling and a syringe, which again she would hide from Cecelia. Quickly she scurried back to the house she was staying in, filling the syringe half way up and inserting it into the same place she remembered Tulle had done so many months before. Her whole body relaxed then, like it had done that time as well.

About an hour later, when everything had gone from painful to blissfully numb, she fell asleep without having any dreams at all. It was only harsh knocking which brought her back to the world and she sat up, still seemingly in a daze, but felt that the effects were beginning to wear off.

"What's going on?" Cecelia asked as soon as she pushed the door open, taking in her tribute. Suffra was glad she had the foresight to pack the morphling before Cecelia had a chance to find it. "I've been knocking on the door for five minutes. Are you okay?" She looked worried, and Suffra flashed her best fake smile.

"I'm alright," she lied, but it was closer to the truth than it had been before. A nagging feeling refused to leave her as she thought she was betraying Iva by doing this, and cursing her own weakness, but promised herself that it was just to get through the Tour. Then she would throw the rest out.

So the last thing she saw from District 6 was the sort of dilapidated looking train station, but to her half-high mind it still looked far better than her own district.

* * *

Half way to District 5 she started coming down. Suffra sobbed into her hands when she did, tears streaming out of her eyes as she anticipated District 5. Mimi's letter came back to her. She'd promised it would get worse, and Mimi did not appear to be wrong frequently. Even with the Victors, she had narrowed it down realistically to her and Walton and it was nearly the two of them.

It would get worse. Worse than this? Maybe she had it wrong. How would Mimi know, after all? And who was the _friend _Mimi was talking about. It wouldn't make sense if the one she mentioned was somebody from District 7, unless it was one of the Victors. She thought of the ones Mimi could have met. Alder and Blight were mentoring, so it probably would have been one of them if it had been them. But they had not said anything, much less tried to help her or take care of her. Suffra thought she probably was putting a bit too much faith in the dead girl.

There was a knock on her door and she double-checked to make sure it was locked. "Go away Cecelia."

"It's Woof," Woof said from the other side, and Suffra froze. Slowly she opened the door again, her hand shaking. Woof stepped inside and she looked down onto the ground.

"What do you want?" Suffra asked.

"Suffra, I know we aren't close, but I know that you got morphling in District 6 and it is not a good way to deal with it," Woof said, and Suffra's eyes widened. She'd expected that he did not know what was going on half the time, and while she was probably right the other half of the time his mind was still clear.

"You're wrong," Suffra lied, hoping to fool Woof, but feeling shame course through her again. They weren't close. He'd said it himself. That did not make her feel any better for lying to him, especially if he's trying to help her. He wasn't fooled. "I'm sorry. Please don't tell Cecelia. It's only for the Victory Tour."

"If you feel that bad about it, you owe it to the families not to show up high," Woof said, holding out his wrinkled hand and waiting for Suffra to place her supply of morphling inside. She looked down at the ground, taking a deep breath, then passing the bottle over to him. "I won't tell Cecelia unless necessary."

"Please, not at all," Suffra begged. "I'm sorry." She apologized again.

"It'll get better," Woof promised, leaving her to it again. That was the exact opposite of what Mimi was hinting at. Who did she believe more? A girl who probably did not know what she was talking about or her secondary mentor who did not know what was going on half the time?

_You have to be strong, _a small voice in the back of her head told her, but she still remembered that she had a full syringe of the stuff which Woof had not taken. She almost wished he had, as it was tempting just to use it. To slip into the blissful nothingness once more.

How did Axanne do it? How did she keep a large supply in her house and not touch it? _She doesn't_. Perhaps that was true, but she was not into it as much as the other Victors from District 6 were.

_You have to stop this._ Suffra couldn't keep living in the past forever, stuck within the world of the Hunger Games. She opened the envelope again and found Mimi's letter to her, tearing it apart through the middle once, then once again. Then she stopped, letting the pieces fall to the ground.

"I'm sorry Mimi," she said out loud. "I owe you nothing. If anything, you owe me. You killed my ally…" She continued the rest in her head, as she did not want the cameras to hear. _Did you plan this, Mimi? Did you want the districts to have their hope, their chance to rebel? Did you intend to be a martyr, even though nobody knew who you were? Did you even intend your death to be seen at all? _

She ripped the paper in two once more. "Did you want me to rip this paper, Mimi? I know nothing about you. Still, you are playing like you know everything. If you knew everything, why did you die?"

Suffra no longer knew quite what she was talking about, and she probably sounded insane, but saying it out loud helped. Especially as it fell on no ears except for the random Peacekeepers probably spying on her, and they did not really know her. _Do you really need to ask? It would have been easier to go, let Walton win. _Her thoughts scared her. Mimi had bailed. Was it because she was weaker or because she was stronger?

She almost did the same for both Katran's and Krystal's, but in the end clutched them to her chest. Of course she didn't need them. Mimi's words were carved into her brain like all of her other memories of Mimi. But she still wanted to hang onto them. At least until their districts. She was not sure why, because it would not be a good idea to give it to the families, but she held onto them anyway.

If saying it out loud worked for Mimi, it really did not for Hawk. Mimi was by no terms innocent, and Suffra had done nothing to her. Hawk was different. The only thing Hawk was guilty of was trying to survive and accidentally killing his district partner in a brutal, Gamemaker engineered, way.

"I'm sorry Hawk," she said out loud again, but all she could now think about was what had happened in District 11. She curled herself up, willing herself to be strong. She could do this. Surely Woof knew better with experience than Mimi did. And Cecelia seemed happy, with her husband and daughter. Actually, the person who seemed to be ruining Cecelia's life the most at the moment was her.

For the first time in over a month, she felt a little flame of hope grow inside her.


End file.
